The Viewing Point Poem by Martin Moore

THE VIEWING POINT
Between the spruce belt and heather haze
Is nestled the viewing point
Its cluttered margins and tarmac glaze
Are poised, eager to exploit
The ugliness and beauty of it all.
I can see from its empurpled slopes
The dancing seed heads of shaking grass
The narrow mountain path enrobed
By the peat covered muddy morass
Browned beneath the linnet's lyrical call.
The valley chokes with medite smoke
Hovering below the torturous climb
A self-propelled malevolent cloak
Meandering through space and time
A slight wind hoping to forestall
Or watch it permeate the vee
The reed, the rush, the silent hush
The flitting, humble, bumble bee
The singing thrush, the rivulets gush
A shroud over nature's banquet hall.