paulhp poetry

the lives of ancients
whisper in my bones
calling from a distant mist
they sigh across these
lush sinuate fields
seeping into musty
stone flagged towers

with hands that have caressed
these gnarled knots of oak
centuries smoothed from
green lanes that wind
through every albion fibre
and myriad ribbons of water
salvaging what has past

I step in their shadows
and know their hearts
with each drop of rain
and whip of wind
I am transcendent, lost
in their peel of bells
throwing joy to the sky