Here, <br />amongst the hedgerows <br />I found a still <br />in the first hot days of May, <br /> <br />as we swathed through fields of buttercups, <br />and you told me of your weights and loves <br />and thrills and hates; <br />I listened, <br /> <br />for once not burdened by my own life. <br />Your life was mine, <br />without agenda. <br /> <br />And when a skylark rose from the rape <br />and flung its gentle ripple, <br />higher and higher, <br />you seemed uninterested. <br /> <br />But soon another joined it, <br />and you asked if it was the same one, <br />so I knew you'd heard me, <br />and you knew I'd heard you. <br /> <br />And the skylarks sang in unison <br />as I took in every detail of the surrounding fields, <br />every detail of your life. <br /> <br />28th V 2012<br /><br />John H Davies<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/skylarks-2/
