Treasure Island

sheena blackhall

(18/8/1947 / Aberdeen)

Hare


A child of the moon
Sovereign lord in the revels of wood and glen
Drinker of stars floating in midnight pools

Hare is happiest with fireflies, dewdrops
An eye moist as a grape

He dances over the quilted fields
Lithe as a porpoise, an acrobat of the grass

His whiskers are slim moustaches
Dabbled with wet. Inscrutable hare
Lord of the leap and the elusive air

Long shanked drummer of the brae
He melts in diaphanous dawn

Jaunty, boisterous, voyager through the moss
Always kicking away his trailing shadow

Up he springs wherever you least expect him
A streak of fur, trying to be a cloud
Fast as a hawk, a panther,
Swallowing strides of corn in high delight

Alone, obscure, eccentric in his ways
His ears drink down the sonorous notes of nightjars
He’s a four legged fable, untamed, in love with flight

He’s the blur in the chiaroscuro of winter twigs
Goblin swift, set fair for hidden pastures

A whim, a whimsy, he soars like a juggler’s ball
Up tilting nose savouring the blown dog rose
Tasting the sacrament of silken grasses

He is the spirit of the corn, the backdrop of dreams
His element is the wind that salts his tail

Haphazardly he lives by fits and starts
And at the end, his requiem’s
Sky burial, the crows bring transformation

Ah, then the cricket will not wake him
Clacking its castonets

Nor the owl with its harlequin face
Hooting his funeral rites

Submitted: Monday, January 06, 2014
Edited: Tuesday, January 07, 2014

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