A Piebald Sky (2) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Here I sit under a piebald sky
Autumn's here and the roses die
By my house on top of the hill

Off to the west, the sea surge spills
Rushes where screeching seagulls sail
And the black shag wallops its sooty wings

A hundred years from now all will
Remain here, sea and sand and wind
I shall be gone like the tumbling leaves

Somebody else will watch these eaves
When rain goes wailing from wave and storm
Under a glittery piebald sky

And so the centuries roll on by
Yesterday's bones are the mat that weaves
The roots of grass. The moon's blind eye

Cares not a jot what's underground
Where I sit watching the world on high
And the wind has the ache of a mourner's sigh
And the rain weeps down from the piebald sky