in woodland magic

 a maze of mangled branches

 a squirming, playful, forest ferlie

wriggling this way, then the other, reaching

on tiptoe through mizzled green, to wink at the sky.

We hunker in her open arms, summer-happy,

while she whispers pear-drop spells,

showers us with pollen secrets, 

and frees the hidden bairn within,

cooried here in her cosy cave,

forever & ever & ever

until the rain passes


Poetry copyright © Frances Ainslie 2021