Facing due east, Conch shells line the porch rails <br />As if they were amulets guarding my soul <br /> <br />From the magical charms of English Mount <br />Her hills quiet for the present, green and still <br /> <br />Multi-hued a rainbow sparkles left <br />A river of milk-y clouds fill hollows <br /> <br />Grapevine, Shropshire, Muddy, Indian Creek-all <br />A tiny iridescent bluebird flits <br /> <br />To the taller cedar beyond their watch <br />My eye lures to its pensive inspection <br /> <br />A cardinal darts from one of the <br />Heart -shaped leaves of the pod-ing red bud <br /> <br />To the right of their line of guard grey <br />Doves doze a few feet from a well hidden <br /> <br />Nest, a hawk casts an angled eerie <br />Mammoth shadow setting off a chorus <br /> <br />Of crow and songbird protest as if they were <br />Yard-dogs warden –ing for a beloved <br /> <br />Child as the darkening cedars forewarn <br />Tiny bush pilots to sing it away <br /> <br />(May 28,2009)<br /><br />Debora Short<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/conchs/
