A Standish Woods Mystery

A Standish Woods Mystery


The battle of mist and trees engulfs
Prospects of views and far off places;
Bewilders the senses which coil in awe
At blurring and softening of climates claw.

Angles of twigs as they finger you out,
Pointing as if to say,' don't stay too long
Lest you be flummoxed by the pathways.
We see them change their ways
As you do not.'

The bitter chills save up for yonder year
Yet the cheek bares well the rosehip hue,
And the sallow cash of summers craze
is trodden in and mashed to earth.

So fungus is rampant and pallid and wet
In exactly the place where the snowdrops will be
when the dead have been honoured and winter is done
and the cracks in the clocks have been mended again.


Adam Clark.