FOR THE ONE ONLY
As we walk, she says she hears
waxwing, fieldfare and redwing;
you seldom see them now, she says,
but, if you listen, you can hear them sing.
Above, the clouds accumulate
to what may yet become a storm.
The brambles stretch across the path
to slow us down.
We’re coming closer every day
to where things end, that gulping beast
which swallows everyone
as if we didn’t matter in the least.
And who’ll go first, you or me?
Me, who worries if you go alone
to town? You, afraid I might indulge
(old fool) in this or that, too much, too soon?
Think of something else, you say, something nice.
The oaks have held their leaves
later than the ash, though colours merge –
and somewhere far away a raptor grieves.
C.J.Driver
(Thanks to Jonty for permission to reproduce this)
