Piles Copse, by David Bagott

Remanent of ancient splendour

Noble in isolation.

Family heirloom,

More valued than gold.

Roots beyond the present

When humankind 

Was but a speck on the landscape.

Before the land was,

Sheep shattered; slag scattered,

Stone slogged and groaning.

In the shadows, cloud and leaf speckled,

Moss clad stone, web strung,

Where silence is never total.

With Erme noise, weather changeable,
Buzzard mew and bobbing dipper.

In the not silence, quiet whispers

Of fungal root entanglement,

And spirits of the past.

Many, entranced by apparent mystery,

Miss the wonder, nature woven,

Of rising trout and lichen hair,

Soft song and gentle growth.
Of wind and rain, moves of moon,

Seasons passing and mighty migrations. 

Amidst slope and stone, oaken

Strengths emerges and somehow remains,

Triumphant in a World largely unsympathetic

To the meaning of this ancient remanent.

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