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S.O.S. Lappersfort en Chartreuse
The Lappersfort Poets Society

Our Trees

It looks as if the pigeons
Will be nesting in our tree
Ere long. Frequent dawn sorties
In all directions seem to say
These birds have not fallen prey
To the Disease. Will we be here
To pick up the chick this year
When it falls from its soft bed?
We’re lucky to have this house,
Made mostly from old timber
Sawn from the bare countryside
For which Flanders is famous.
Smoke signals from Lappersfort
Remind this human hermit
How precarious existence is.
Her foot lands on the floorboards.
The paper it takes to write
This poem comes from somewhere.
Mailing it pollutes cyberspace.
I can’t see the wood for the trees.

Marcus Cumberlege

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