Go Us To My Protector

Grasses feather in the wind. Determined, swift like an envoy Dart along the barn, crosswind Life fills the air inextricably with joy. Like the joy of a young child. Arms open, running, running downhill. As for a second, the wild, Wild wind, on the deep wet moorland, stands still. Tippling back on her heels She'd summersault and then balance in the air. White-faced like daisy wheels Pink laced: Grips hold of her neckwear. Her enamelled breath Is it a vortex of living power? Shuddered cold in death She fills her lungs like an open flower. Her face was the very first carved opal Rounded in its pleasure Smiles in the mysteries of the marginal World, mysteries we all treasure. Like the swift beneath the old cowshed eaves That's a glint, a spectre Like rushes that retain their leaves Go us to my protector.