Sunrise on a February Morning

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!