If ye would walk slowly…

Yew may spy thee frogspawn in their submarine world, breeding in frenzy in their warm incubator
You could find thee woodpecker hole in an old Ash, where blind birdlings wait for wyrms in darknessAnd maybe catch the attention ov the bovine herd from the field over, that is, if they had something to say
Then trace spirals in standing stones ov slate, and think of a story yet told under thatched rooves
If ye would walk slowly, the plants would call you over, bend a stem or flower
and the bugs would walk on water, right in front of your eyes
Thee feline huntress waits patiently, not a hair of fur ruffled
and hooded crows fly in tandem o’er fields of wool and whistlin’
suddenly, a quieter earth, neath birch leaves sways in hammock
and wooden panels are a dance floor for thee birds
in soggy dew ov days thee dawn chorus sloughs off thee slumber
and there is always another walk to look forward to