Skylarks

Here,

amongst the hedgerows

I found a still

in the first hot days of May,

as we swathed through fields of buttercups,

and you told me of your weights and loves

and thrills and hates;

I listened,

for once not burdened by my own life.

Your life was mine,

without agenda.

And when a skylark rose from the rape

and flung its gentle ripple,

higher and higher,

you seemed uninterested.

But soon another joined it,

and you asked if it was the same one,

so I knew you’d heard me,

and you knew I’d heard you.

And the skylarks sang in unison

as I took in every detail of the surrounding fields,

every detail of your life.

John H Davies

28^th May 2012