A great forest grows dark and green,
Where little birds twitter amid the leaves,
Reynard the red coated one keen eye searching,
For squirrels leaping among branches tall,
Making sure the youngsters don’t fall,
A capercaillie scream rents the air,
Sounding like ban-sidhe in the air.
Trees creak and rattle in ancient tree talk,
Close together they whisper and plot,
Sending astray the unwary and proud,
Those who stravaig far from the path.
Deep in the depths a slow rising hill,
Crowned with a wall of log and thorn,
With a ditch to deter those who do ill,
A gate stands with warriors each side,
Armed with sword,shield and dirks sharp and slim,
Protecting those who dwell within.
Built long before by the ancestors long gone,
Their spirit lingering in every log,
Singing their song of “Torr na Craoibhe”, as it was once named,
In the tongue of ancients forever told.
Their song drifts over the trees,
Heard by creatures large and small,
For those who stop to listen and hear,
The wisdom within to teach and preserve,
The old ways of nature and ancient forest,
Helping all to live in joyous unity,
Listen and hear what they say.
© Andrew Provan McIntyre 28.4.2016.
Categories:
reynard, fantasy, people, remember,
Form: Dramatic Monologue
In many colours I come and many places inhabit
when in South America crabs are my favourite
I chase them with great glee and delicately
Their flesh pick out of their shells and pincers
Come to Africa, when I reside here I have bat ears
that swivel around as I listen for my prey
a tasty rabbit, a guinea fowl even just a mouse
I hide any excess and return to dine in leisure
When living in Russia I am silver in colour
a thick pelt and bushy tail which I display
with such great pride to attract the vixens
then in a matter of weeks new cubs join me
England not quite so cool here the hunt
dogs baying for my blood as I am chased
uphill and down dale, cunningly I head downstream
then hide up in some trees, yes I can climb them
Arctic is where I the Alopex live with my tiny ears
to help me not to lose too much heat in the snowy Tundras
here I eat whatever I can even a fish when it's salmon run
with my vixen we share the raising of four to eleven cubs
Known world wide as cunning and sly, I am a survivor
overcoming different adversities as they arise
Reynard is the name most men know and curse me by
especially if I have raided their chicken coops
Categories:
reynard, nature,
Form: Narrative