Poets’ Land

POET'S LAND Pen y Ghent seen from Lower Winskill.

When I am gone,
Bury me not in dusty claims with my forebears,
In dry-rot graveyard, by tin-roof church and dunny.

Give me not to the sea, for wrasse-filled rockpool’s swallow.
Don’t leave my ashes high, escarpment winds to hollow.

Just fold me up,
Where weathered rock, by dry stone wall
Has made a deeper place,
Where hawthorn hedgerow
Has hidden me a ditch.
A place in green-grass valley,
That would be my wish.

My soul has a footprint
In Poets’ Land,
In rain-sluiced loam,
On flatbed stone,
Where shepherd, waller, and my tear-stained boy
Can call me home.

© Michael Burge, all rights reserved.

4 thoughts on “Poets’ Land”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s