The Secret Grove

a broad green sweep of valley
dark woodlands gathered there
by the rivers curve
nestled far below

above the hills a kestrel calls
sound stretched across still air
the blue grey hills melt away
in a distant milky mist

high above the world i sit
in a place away from care
surrounded by a birch wood
close by a hidden pool

this sun warmed granite ledge
above a grassy stair
lodges like an eagle’s nest
amongst the ancient trees

the oak trees lean together
to form a secret gate
where the hawthorns grow
beside the lofty fir

I lean against the apple tree
and watch the day grow late
no sound but birds and waterfall,
the sighing of the trees

the sun dips down behind the hills
i sit in peace and wait
to see the diamond stars come out
across the web of night


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