Here is a new poem and a beautiful picture of a rainbow over the moorland in North Wales the day after my mother’s partner Doug’s recent funeral
The earth is always turning
and only from under a dark cloak
do the evening stars shine bright.
In the core of clean white bones
there is rich red and yellow marrow
and hopeful seeds fall bleached
into the black soil of the furrow.
Trees have their roots in the earth
grow branches into the pale sky
and their stout hearts do not flinch
from life or death, or ask why.