Treasure Island

John Rickell

(I November 1931 / York)

Chaffinch in the gorse


Last night's snow melted from the roads
dawdled in the wood hiding from the sun
losing every minute despite the cold.
rabbits scamper through brittle ferns
leap across our path, a full six feet
the only sign of life today,
that is a lie, hazel buds are smiling
cheeky grins as scales fall,
pale leaves peep out, to join the hazels.
Soon March and hope returns.
Ferns will lace the woodland floor,
Rooks, survived the shot-guns
will build again their scruffy nests,
badgers dig a little deeper
chaffinch in the gorse.

Submitted: Thursday, February 20, 2014

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