A Sonnet: A Winter’s Walk Up Upon the Ridgemere
Up upon the Ridgemere I saw a hare
dancing in the dusk. The ploughed field lay
fallow. The whited owl fell through air
misty with first frost, streaked gold and grey.
The moon spread there a soft and stony light
gold in the waning sky above shadowed
hills spread far wide. The Ridgemere trailed bright
a smeuse for Viking warriors opposed
to Norman knights come scavenging with swords
outstretched. A lone blue stone marks this thinning
place where teemed marauding friends and lords
whose days I see before me dimming
in the twilit lane as sparrows feed up
in the tree and whispering we come close.