The Silver Birch
– a caudate sonnet
My gladness of the silver birch I wish
To share, that slender goddess of a tree
Her shower of silken hair moves in a swish
That stirs in me a mystic reverie
As turns this verdant, grassy leaf-fringed glade
Into her sacred grove, and I, her priest
Mid-frisson in the dancing, dappled shade
Call druids, bards and ovates to the feast
But let us now the details try to trace
The little leaves, heart-shaped, serrated trail
Along each pliant twig to form a spray
That’s bright and airy, made with measured grace
Cascading sprays together form the veil
That by the gentle breeze is set to sway
Her stretch of sky she turns to shimmering show
And whispers Summer’s secrets soft and low.
ROCK ART 4 REWILDING 