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