Custodian

I am a custodian.
Custodian of the landscape,
its mysteries and memories.

Custodian of the May blossom
that wakes the hedges
after winter slumbers.

Custodian of languages:
the calling of cattle at first light,
the arguments of foxes,
the complaining of sheep
the gossip from overhead geese.

Custodian of the berries and sloes,
the rich bounty of hedgerows,
of the fallen trees,
the scampering of squirrels,
the whirring of pheasants’ wings,
the hide and seek deer,
the woodpecker’s drum roll.

Custodian of winter’s snow and summer’s draught,
of sunset and sunrise, of misty hideaways,
of dripping fog, of woods and streams,
the valleys, hills and skies.

I am a custodian.
I have no desire to own these things,
these places, just to know
that on my watch,
and until I relinquish responsibility -
All is as it should be.

 

Brian Moses, nationalpoetryday.co.uk accessed on June 11, 2023