Thursday, April 21, 2016

Came across this whilst looking for a picture















If There’s a Heaven


On a spring morning, when the early sun
glistens the dew on tufted grass;
and a cock pheasant in the covert
imperiously calls to his sober toned hens.
When the buds start to burst: and the catkins,
show on the fringe of the hazel wood;
my heart awakens from its winter torpor and rejoices

A missel thrush constructs her nest
concealed in the ivy, and blue tits
prospect around holes in the ash trees.
Looking from my viewpoint on the hills
I can see across the levels, there,
blued in the distance by the mist:
the hedgerows march like an army
in serried ranks across the moors

On a nearby bank primroses
have blossomed in a sheltered spot
and the heady fragrance of hidden
violets, fills the air with their scent.
If there’s a heaven God
for such as me;
grant me a spring morning
which will last eternally.


Ben Grader 1964

I had written it in the early 60s; what it was doing amongst my moorland pix I do not know.
Sorted it back into the files of poetry. Maybe I had tried the picture for a fit?





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