I think I can almost hear the wolf’s haunting cry
Aside the baleful cows’ lament
From the shaft of light
On the old barn roof.
The break of dawn aglow
Lights the moorland ridge
A soft yellow shimmers on the crest
And yet I do not see;
The sky a shimmering teal
A tease of fantasy or tale.
I lie and watch the dawn unfold
With twisted narrative
To imagination drawn.
Ruth Partridge 