Nature's Rest

A poem about one of my favourite places, a place where I often muse.

Whenever my soul is restless and wild,
As confused and distant as that of a child,
There is a place, of which I am part,
That holds the power to quell my heart.

But why has this place a power untold?
To calm your fire, to loosen the world’s hold?
And how is it such that when you feel fear,
Your mind retreats to this land you hold dear?

Well, several years ago, my childish mind,
Sought out peace, and tried to find,
Amidst a ceremony of utmost grace,
A peaceful and comforting musing space.
And whereupon I stood and searched,
A silent starling, upon a branch perched,
Chose to look, and saw my strain,
And drew my gaze with her haunting refrain.
My mind was drawn; I looked to her eyes,
And saw within a mind fair and wise.
One that had seen the years of the past,
And remembered every one to the least and last.  

So when the starling rose, borne by her wings,
Her thoughts were perhaps on different things,
But as I followed, and watched as she flew,
She chose to share with me that which she knew.

She led me to a place where time stood still,
A garden where nature yet had its fill.
For across the fields of grass and clover,
Ran a river, its path flowing over,
Slender steps of slate, and upon its shore,
Lies my willow tree, both sturdy and sure.
And almost as though it had been made for me,
Was a smooth hollow, in the shade of Mahogany,
As if it had been used by others, in the ages past,
Who had sat in the magic that this nature had cast.

For when I sat against that Willow’s heart,
My mind and soul were far apart,
And both felt distant, as though rent from time,
Lost in the beauty of the river in its prime.
For as the minutes passed, and turned to hours,
So my story begun, in this hollow of ours,
A place where only the innocent have ever gone,
All drawn together by naught but a song.

And though I expected, that after a while,
This sight would become but a mere facsimile,
The more I searched, the more I saw,
Of the birds and beasts of talon and claw.
For amongst the pine trees to the west,
There lay upon a Thrush’s nest,
And far further, in the trees of the east,
A family of squirrels gathered about their feast.
And, when I looked far north, to the skies I knew,
There Kites and Eagles dived and flew,

And as the day faded into dusk,
Amidst the soft-scented heather’s musk,
I sat and though, with no logic in part,
How it was my Starling’s heart,
Would tell her where my worries lay,
And tempt her to show me beauty this way.
And as the dusk passed into a deep white moon,
I left my hollow, and vowed to return soon.

And so, whereupon my heart feels rage,
Or perhaps my story merely needs a new page,
My heart is drawn to the grassy loam,
Upon which, I found another home.
For although alone, bereft of human voice,
The Starling’s field is my rest of choice.
For the river is my soul, as it flows evermore,
While the willow is my heart, both sturdy and sure.
Although I know not how the field came to be,
And who next will find solace within, after me
The spirits of the creatures that dwell there in peace,
Are with me in all, and that does not cease.

Author's Note

What do you think I could do to improve?