Rhyme Chapter Time

In the noising babble born brook

here in the dell of this unkempt wood

under the sky torn kingfisher blue,

I watch water boatman swim great strides

forward and back in a mirror brown pool.

And all the insects I cannot give name

clamber across the circle of stone

seeking warm earth bathed in the sun.

All for my eye moist ear muffled mind

this paradise, this pageantry

this rhyme chapter time.

The warble, deep throat, high pitch sing’un of bird

flashing from tree, fern and bracken bowered bush,

appear from beyond the V of this hollow’s high shelf

where nettles wave their tear dropping heads

and the spring born rivulets breathing wet

rush lemming-like into a mirror faced lake.

I can just hear moor hen’s chirp, more silence than sound,

a chorus no doubt to a wordless symphonic hymn.

But wait!  I cannot yet understand the boatman or me.

Perhaps I should listen, look more intently, or just simply be.

All for my eye moist and ear muffled mind

this paradise, this pageantry, this rhyme chapter time.