Off tops of greening trees

Across fresh flowering fields

Over rushing muddied streams

I hear her.

The broad expanse of

Verdant chalk down rolling

Rounded curves and valleys

Carry her voice.

She wheels above

Unseen against high bright sun

In glaring blue

Feathered fingers, arc’d wings

Float in thermal pools

Circular drifting

Her broadcast presence

Pierces the vivid canopy

Slices uncurling bracken

Stabs sticky dank litter

Where others’ ears

Who know this buzzard’s crying

Freeze in fear.

CLP 02/04/18

This poem is dedicated to George Monbiot


Published by

Christopher Perry

I do not want to wander through life wondering