Sonnet 8–While Walking One Morning in England
Jim January 18th, 2010
The morning sun the dappled hillside draws
And in the waking fields the wrens will sing
Dashing tree to tree on dance black wing
They shout to God abrupt, enrapt applause.
And as I stroll in peace along the lane
Beneath the arch of studded elm and larch
I hear behind the wheels of progress march
Reminding me of man’s incessant pain.
The car o’ertakes me in a burst of speed
And coats me with a mist of carbon dust.
Across the farther hill it comes to crest
A comet trailing urgent human need.
Which world is me? In truth I cannot say.
But do my needs these fields of peace betray?