Twin Oaks

Twin oaks are leaning over the loch Murmuring of this and that Click-whump clickle-whump they complain The fork of one is harbouring tiny ferns Like maidenhair, an emerald blush of fronds The other carries acorns in his lap, A squirrel’s treasure chest Wind lifts their leaves in unison A tribal creak, restless as the eaves Of a moving vardo Their roots tap into the blood Of a little traveller At night they dream of leaving their grassy berth Of rising like the humming flies of the loch Of dancing over the waves beneath the moon