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The Web Poetry Corner

Tessa Merlin


Birmingham, England, UK

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To The Buzzard


Tessa Merlin

Quartering your upland wilderness.
Buoyed on thermals, rising higher.
Mewing cry,
Gull-like, almost, in its sound.
Echoing through the wildness of your land.

Windswept valleys slip beneath your skimming form.
pennons bend to catch the breeze.
Rising high,
Ever higher.
To the heavens' outposts,
'Til a mere pinprick plots you in the sky.

The Rowan Tree


Tessa Merlin

Oh Rowan Tree, in splendour spread
thy trembling boughs above my head.
For tho’ I am but faint of heart
I hallow thee because thou art
majestic, in the wind that sighs
through fingers pointing to the skies.

And thou art life to many things
that crawl on earth, or fly on wings.
Thy berry-laden branches feed
the winter birds, who at their need
eat hungrily thy berries red;
thy leafless boughs hung overhead.

Thy leaf-mould, cast upon the ground
is sustenance to beetles round.
And every kind of creeping germ
and spider-mite and bloated worm
will feed voraciously and dine
upon thy bounties, sweet as wine.

And so, through many seasons long
oh Rowan, thou wilt sing thy song.
A haven for the creatures small
who dwell within thy shadow-fall,
sustaining life from root to crown,
through prime an to thy closing down.

Until, at last, thy day is through,
when time kills all, as time will do.
Thy regal heartwood, rotting down,
is clothed in a lichen gown.
‘Til every speck is blown away,
oh Rowan Tree, thus ends thy day.