The View From My Window

The view from my window
Is elder in bloom
From a vista of picture frames
Straddling the room.
And, under the elders,
In china array,
Are roses, that blush
Through the shimmering day.

The feeders are empty.
The birds have deserted.
But, over the stream bridge,
My ears are alerted
To clatter of lid
From a red squirrel feeder.
They shoot through the trees,
Playing, ‘Follow my leader’.

In shadows of morning,
The weatherboard’s printed
With flowers of elder,
Through which the sun’s squinted.
Its brightness awakens
Each small piece of growing,
As, over the bridge,
On an arch, hop is glowing.

Its golden leaf surfaces
Echo the sun.
As it climbs on its way,
A new day has begun.
And I stand in awe,
With a smile on my face,
To be lost in the thrall
Of this wonderful place.

© Ruth Twyman Lockyer May 2011