Thurlby At Twilight
A cummerbund of peach and tangerine
below Persian blue sky now washes pale,
Marsh Harriers and Starlings call, unseen,
competing in bizarre chromatic scales.
Sewn onto the horizon in a hem,
like cardboard cut-outs on a puppet's stage,
black silhouettes of trees break up the Fen,
companions, my deep solitude assuaged.
A circling buzzard ends his last foray,
for him the next meal cannot come too soon,
the evening takes it's leave and says good-day,
lopsided smile upon Lincolnshire moon.
Now turning a full circle, one last gaze
with hope in such peace I can end my days.
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