A Piebald Sky (2)

Here I sit under a piebald sky Autumn's here and the roses die By my house on top of the hill Off to the west, the sea surge spills Rushes where screeching seagulls sail And the black shag wallops its sooty wings A hundred years from now all will Remain here, sea and sand and wind I shall be gone like the tumbling leaves Somebody else will watch these eaves When rain goes wailing from wave and storm Under a glittery piebald sky And so the centuries roll on by Yesterday's bones are the mat that weaves The roots of grass. The moon's blind eye Cares not a jot what's underground Where I sit watching the world on high And the wind has the ache of a mourner's sigh And the rain weeps down from the piebald sky