N I G H T
W A L K
Lights on chintz curtains behind glass Feel the windows’ warm glow as we pass Smoke drifts from the tall chimney stack Drawing us in, drawing us back Hands in mittens, hats on heads, warm scarves We follow some familiar paths To the woods, by the woods there’s a trail And the crispest air there to inhale Some pheasants scatter startled and scared A rabbit bounds by perhaps a hare A late tractor out ploughing stubble fields Night birds swoop on the pickings revealed As the resting day puts up its heels With owlish hoots, rustles and squeals The winter moon casts its soft shadows Badgers and foxes leave their burrows Picking up dead branches from the floor For kindling under logs we have sawn Fallen from trees, tired from the burden Of leaves, wind and nest-building birds
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