The sting of the wind
On this cold black night
Reminds me of my
Ancestors who rode
This same wind
As they trudged to work.
Down in the mine
On early shift.
This  connection, now, is
Deep in my blood
Deep in what I mean
When I say words
In tones that rhyme.

Words that would’ve
Carried meaning in those
Hungry days
When this same old
Mottled sky’d
Pleased the eye of
Those infected with
These old discontents.

So, in this frail copse
Of poplar trees and
Hawthorn bushes
A moment’s respite
Is offered me
As I watch these birds
Swing up, up into these ghost-
Ridden trees.

And, just for a
Moment,
I’m no longer there......