As the eagle-
Flies above us-
In the sky.

I walk here-
Below!

Upon the untrod
Path of St Patrick!

Possession takes hold
And a light is lit ahead.

There are ripples-
Upon a shadowy nighttime pool.

The owl-
Hoots soft;

And the grass-
Appears trod!

A Silent Whistler
I did waketh there that night!

Disrupting that Sacred Silence,
The Mountain Mages awake-

To hear-
The dull lowing of their cattle in the green fields running Southwards!

Pace increases
As I rise above the off-cut peaks

I have crossed that lonely border
And now I stand aloof in un-chartered territory of the North!

Now it is I who is the Eagle;
And I look upon that same Earth-
From which I too saw this Eagle high above!
But now:
It is those who remain below-
Who stare upon me who no longer retains a part in this Singular Motion!

Saturday 14th March, 2012
Charlotte Fawdry