In my paper kingdom, words abound,
I reign as king without a crown,
I have no chalice, throne, or gown,
there's no adoring crowd around,
In my paper kingdom, words abound,
the lay of land is margined ground,
my fortress ruled and spiral-bound,
while a moat of feathered ink surround,
In my paper kingdom, words abound,
where bardic verses are profound,
when all I have are words to astound,
my loudest cries are without sound.
Above the brightening vale in sun reborn
The barrow braes are clothed as we behold
Amid green pines the gorse and broom adorn
With blossoms swathing heath in cloth of gold
Below: the tarn’s once dark and baleful mien
Is now transformed with shining silver face
Neath damsel sapphire jewels in flickering gleam
Margined by a garland amber bracken lace
Now Nature flags the sign to all its kin
No longer to hold back its life elan
But flourish without caution and begin
The annual great cycle - sacred plan
Reach of present strife-thrown shadows on our days
Shall be as life’s great rhythms: passing phase
Bouquets of eastern starlings, raving.
Reaching out, fledgling saving,
The garden sloth of heaven's hues
Living in a bath of saffron dews.
Darkend the plough that snails follow
With troughs behind it tumbling hollow;
And up the steepend crag it crowns,
Margined off by aphid sundowns.
Violent garden of solar grapes,
some day we will barrel your shapes,
And your gentle filligree reigns retake-
Still cold before the Heavens's gate.
After death, mother's wake,
Finds her hatchling in the lake,
In the mud its last breath take.
Let these sail-white bones
Forever sate
Mother earth's gentle wheat.
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