I leaned the gate <br />between the wood and pasture, <br />more to think than rest; <br />Slow clouds, heavy and grey <br />made their journey westward <br />a bad sign; cold tomorrow <br />you can bet your gloves on that, <br />four layers today, five tomorrow! <br />Every day, just me and Jack, <br />know each stick and rabbit hole; <br />miles from anywhere and mobiles. <br />love the pines searching the sky <br />vaults random laid in tumult, <br />pagan; raw; Druid-land. <br />there is a corner hid away <br />deep in yew and holly <br />stitched with old-man's beard, <br />a lady chapel with no candles, <br />dark-deep-secret, where I dare not. <br />I hear rumours from the starlings <br />rituals to tempt and thrill; <br />foolish to believe, <br />but the wise old owl rarely comes <br />and never says a word...... <br />and he's been here for years; <br />that's enough for me. <br />Whom to ask as I lean the gate <br />leaning by the wood and pasture? <br />I must into the chapel, subdue my fear <br />seek her face but once, <br />once will be enough, just once <br />I've heard her siren song <br />a tongue I do not know, ancient, <br />ancient from the by-ways, the lanes <br />where once the chapman and his horse <br />shared hay and rabbit and small beer <br />beneath the milky way bright and clear. <br />My fear subdued I shall know a truth <br />which will be her choice <br />There are many truths to learn, <br />should I accept her word, her wisdom <br />leave the yew and holly.... <br />The sadness of the truth she tells? <br />I cannot leave the world I know. <br />(my purse too filled with gold) <br />to join the chapman and his horse <br />but sit on the leaning gate <br />my ears closed to siren calls.<br /><br />John Rickell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-chapman/
