Where Once Was a Priory: The Dower House Garden Morville by Jennie Hart

Morville, Bridgnorth                                                                                          Photo: Liz Obadina

Like frosted pearls on lichened branches

Swelling buds reflect the morning light,

Careful to conceal their mystic contents

Of petals, stamens, stigma, all coiled tight.

Autumn’s crop of desiccated fruit

On shivering earth lies strewn around,

Adorned with early morning beads of dew,

Like Christmas baubles on the icy ground.

Great woodpecker tapping with his bill,

Plays percussion on the old pear tree,

A tuneful robin – soloist - joins in,

Melodious songster she is proved to be.

An abandoned snail shell lies forlorn

Alongside a green moss-coated stone,

Did a thrush dine on this tiny mollusc

Sheltering in its ochre- banded home?

Memories of a priory lie beneath

Where Lenten roses bend in conversation,

Like ancient monks expounding their belief,

They nod and stir in quiet contemplation.

Lightly tread on silver frosted grass,

Heavy steps may crush each tender blade,

Snowdrops seeking light, bring hints of spring

Earth soon will warm; traces of winter fade

(First Published in a Hightown Writers Anthology 'A Book of Delights' 2016, and 25 January 2021 on this blog)