Sunday, March 01, 2015

On the first day of March.

Sighing song, on the wandering wind
That plays with each step on the waterside walk.
Taunting tune, haunting and ethereal,
Reflected in the clouds that shroud the hills,
And veil in mist the vagrant view.
Raindrops that run, inexorably, down
The walker's neck, and settle soggily somewhere
Below the chin.
The whispering waves, washing
The shore, and sending shivering shimmers
Of water to caress the roots of the trembling trees.
Yesterday was winter, soon spring appears,
And the mad March winds will buffet
And toss the lingering dead leaves, and the
Drooped and dying grass into a
Frenzied swirl of the distant promise
Of summer.
But for now
It is winter with nature and me.

© 2ndwitch, 01/03/15

(Some time back, I found a version of the Robert Tannahill poem 'The Braes O'Gleniffer', I must have had the copy for ages, but had never 'listened' before - it is the last track on one of Ivan Drever's albums. He is a good singer, a superb guitarist - and he has nailed this song totally. I was walking along the shore of the loch, north from Firkin Point today, and the words of it came to mind for some reason, and so the last line of my poem is kinda stolen from RT and ID. I would love to know more - like where the tune is from (ID being a composer of note it could well be his) but feel it would be impertinent to ask! Or sycophantic - and I hate sycophants!)

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