Remember, no one can make you feel inferior without your consent. - Eleanor Rooseveldt

Sunrise on a February Morning

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Up the lane and through the mist, Towards the distant copse I look; A wondrous golden glow appears, And there I see a circling rook. Wisps of mist now slowly drift, Through woodland branches gnarled and bare; As though through prison bars I see, The sun, so bright, but bars ensnare. Serenely now I see it glide, Ever higher in its cage - So to thwart the prison guards, ‘Till from its gaol* can disengage. Many rooks now taunt and shriek, The prison guards protest it seems; Unable now to halt advance, And louder and louder I hear their screams. From prison bars and hostile guards, At last the captive sun breaks free; And rises high above them all, And now the warders let it be. No longer snared by prison bars - The sun is high and down it shines; Upon the rooks, settled and calm, Their anger, it seems, it now confines. The golden glow from high above, Down the lane, upon me now; If we, behind the bars remain, What can life for us endow? *'Gaol', (pronounced 'jail'), is an old-fashioned term for prison - olde English!



© BPF
2019-03-11

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