Broken Barricades

Broken Barricades

What you are forgetting
it is I who hold the key.
The whale swims under ice.
Like him I lift my head,
to break free and scan the sea.

Life can be upsetting
when you really try to live,
not always neat and nice,
through broken barricades,
I race to what I can give.

I am beginning to see what it all could mean,
my vision clear and clean.
In the midst of the muddle,
I turn my wheel,
feel fresh grass beneath my heel.

Never rained so much before,
but perhaps it did.
Never seen so much water,
running down the gutters to the grid.
Wonderful things revealed long hid.

Robin Hood has nowhere to hide now,
said a passing neighbour with a smile,
her comment on the metal box I stacked
with rotten wood and twigs outside my house.
And yes, she is right, I thought, for the oaks have dwindled,
deer herds that remain roam in private parks,
and over what is left of the wild.
And the waves and the rain still lash the ark
I first heard of as a child.


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