saltmarsh

a vanguard of crows and cooing doves
the thrum of woodpeckers
as the ageless spring chortled to life
ducks skittered on the mere--
lichen greened the ancient drystone wall 
up to a wooden stile

its scarce used path almost lost to grass
yet I whistled my way
through a whispering forest of trees
over  old rotting leaves
which seemed quite dry but hid a spongy loam 
and saturated pap

it sucked at my feet to draw me down
and while the  morning sun
lit up green boles and budding branches
I sank ever deeper
into a mire of acceptance that
it was my time to go

a firmness of roots circled my waist
and I thought of winter
of the pain of death and all the time
gnarled faces smiled at me
till I felt a comfort deep inside
before I lapsed to sleep

then I awoke-- looked down 
at skittering ducks upon the mere
and felt the warm sun-- here
on my branches filled with buds-- and rife
with energy which has 
never known the brevity of life.