"Darkest Before Dawn" (I.P.)
He will not sleep tonight;
he knows – sure as his dog,
that follows his every step,
pretty soon, a storm will come,
as beneath a blackberry sky –
struggles to his knees to the cries
of roses in a stranglehold of ivy.
Without him, he is certain
these beloved trees, and plants
would not survive, nor would
the fields, the copse, the moor,
he calls his own, for they would
lose their reason to stay green,
and his birds – the robin, jay
and thrush, their will to sing.
He would never leave this place...
this land he’d planted, dug –
cherished from a lad, coursed
through his veins. His roots
ran deep, yet, if he had to go,
he’d pull them out cleanly;
even now dreading...
the dark before the dawn.