At Toome

At Toome

At Toome

There was a pheasant somewhere around,
Croaking; drowned out
By the small birds
Nearer. Would it enter the yard
And dazzle us, or be lost
In the morning, in the wet fields
Levelling out amazement?

A door was opened, a comment made.
Somebody flung a bucket of slops
Across the air. In the silence
New and frightened,
Finches, tits, the little birds,
An army helicopter heard,
Moved in, to their feeding-grounds.