Winter Night Battles

Dark as a parliament of rooks in an November field

Hardly seen in the gloom, antlers raised

In anger or celebration, those hoary creatures never yield

To winter winds, nor bend nor sway

But stand firm against the blast, raising their shaggy heads

into the storm, waving their limbs about in battle rage

Gesturing at the river of clouds that pours overhead

Curtains of night decked out around the fight so soon to be staged

& who will live & who will die & who will still be standing by morning’s light

Who torn apart or finally sent to fall

By the wild roaring host that passes here out of sight

But heard & felt by all?

Who are these stout hearted, war gnarled warriors of the night

Strong of arm & clad in armour so deep grooved?

Who dare to face the elements, so proud a sight

Rearing up from the shadows ahead of us on the hill, unmoved?

Ancestral guardians of the land, spurned by many with their glib "Don’t cares"

As hard & as soft as the earth from which they sprang

Forged & beaten by the force of countless years

Fed by deep rooted springs from which clear waters ran

For centuries before we paved them over with stone

They do not care for not do they fear machine ridden man

They are heavy, shadowed, ageing fighters every one

The oaks of the forest of Arden, standing firm with their clan!

B. Patterson, 17-11-05