A Lark by Stoneyford

Close by the ford
down Longcroft Lane
from shouting meadow
he rises, dances skyward
to an invisible summit.

Black on azure
flickering atom
suspended on filament
cobweb-fine, drips peals
of tiny glass bells
pitch rising, falling
tumbling, a cascade
of summer song
formless yet formed
without verse
chorus
or middle eight
yet somehow knowable.

For an hour he sends
but never receives.

Coded intelligence
secrets for unseen ears
wordless bulletin
of Trinity rapture.

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10 thoughts on “A Lark by Stoneyford

  1. So beautiful, Julian, and it brings back many memories of the 1970s, when we lived in Wantage. There were always skylarks to be seen along the Ridgeway. It sounds as though Stoneyford was the same. Lovely imagery, as always. I could hear that lark singing down Longcroft Lane.

    Like

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