Curlews have a little recognised competence
For rendering themselves invisible
All the while soaring to warble
From the full height of the sky. While
Along the old earth laid wagonway,
Where mountain bikes now pass
Where once laden kibbles of coal
Trundled on behind labouring locos,
Through cuttings between Japanese knotweed,
Cow parsley and unscented wild roses
I pursue my constitutional, lost
In thought in familiar surroundings.
Those roses I recently heeled in were
Deep yellow, Hybrid Teas, pungent,
Almost ostentatious as memory
Needs be, not to be forgotten,
With this being the very first Father’s Day
I could not send a card.
Dave Alton
