The View

The view from my bedroom.....

The View

The blue grey mist is an opaque veil across my eyes,

I know the valley is there, I have walked the hazy hills.

Today, cock-crow early, the blurred picture still forms

Countryside is waking slowly from its sleeping pills.

The orb in the sky tries breaking through obscuring fog

And for brief second the dale appears

An illusion, a temperate rural soft mirage

Concealed behind nature’s tears.

The pitter-patter raindrops relax, less tense,

A fracture in Mother Nature’s smoke screen

A golden fissure separates glistening shroud

The summit, the farms, a picture box scene.

The schism is working, sunlight breaks through

And the View hoves into eye-line at last

Bright colours of country, radiant rain on a leaf

The View cheers whatever weather forecast.

Ink black night, no street lamps here

Along ribbons of valley roads comply.

The View enfolded in darkness once more disappears

But tomorrow and tomorrow it waits on stand-by.

Dawn chorus is waking in the Cathedral of nature,

Fox pricks up his ears strolling down country lane.

Somewhere, out there, my View is waiting

To reveal itself, through my window pane.

The View has been there for ever, an eternal life line,

Shared by villagers and visitors but is always just mine.

By Linda Prince