Quiet Of The Morning

Poem By Andrew Shiston

As the mist swirls in the valleys
And drifts across the fields
The ghostly shadows harden
And the ancient trees appear
Old Oaks with giant branches
And waists that spans their years
Stand proudly dripping water
From mist as though of tears
In a gentle silent clearing
Between these ancient trees
Stands a broken fallen cottage
Gnarled red ivy round its eaves
In this quiet silence of the morning
Before the wakening of the birds
The sound across the clearing
Is the, tap tap, tap tap of water
Dripping down from sodden leaves.

Comments about Quiet Of The Morning

Never have I read such a poem! Positively commenting, of course.


Rating Card

5,0 out of 5
1 total ratings

Other poems of SHISTON

Portland

This Island, this out-thrust spit of land
At the end of miles of stone
Where on the farthest cliff-top
A lighthouse stands alone

The Ship

The sky grows dark, seagulls scream
The wind begins to howl
The storm is close, we cringe with fear
The sea grows larger still

A Symphony Of A Storm

The lightning and crashing of thunder
And squalls of gale force wind
Leave the sea a striped peppermint humbug
To a horizon the eye cannot see

A Day In Late Spring

The fog is lifting and the foghorn silent
On the point of Portland Bill
The lighthouse light extinguished
Only seagulls now are shrill

Drowned

From many fathoms deep
In the dark and dismal depths
Where day and sunlight disappear
Lays a rusting rotten wreck