The Road Between Us, Mother Nature and Ribbontail Lane. Poetry by Sandra Behan

The Road Between Us

Even though it’s May and the sun is hot, I won’t buy you an ice cream cone.
I wont see your smiling face or take you in my arms.

The road between us was closed; restrictions were in place.
I missed your First Birthday.
No road was open from me to you.

Is this War, is this what it was like?
Families torn apart, no time to prepare.
Days, weeks, months engulfed in bad news.

Family members died alone, without saying goodbye,
Strangers stood in line on the roadside as the hearse brought them home.

Space and social distance the new norm.
A different world, mask covered faces, gloved hands.

Trees are in spring blossom now a celebration of winter’s end.
I will wait to see you; perhaps you are waiting for me.

Love Nanny…

Mother Nature

The silence in the town is deafening.
Fellow walkers keep social distance, fear in their eyes.

My lonely silhouette moves invisibly along the country lane.
Lost in deep thought, worry not too far away.

I jump as cows stir, watching me through metal gates.
Wild flowers, gorse, cowslips and dandelions pepper the fields.

Mother nature embraces me in her splendour.
I surrender my soul to her beauty.
My spirits lift with the sweet song of the birds.

Mesmerised by the green, blue and brown colors of nature, the earth, trees, sky and water.

Standing by the canal bank,
I watch the sun’s reflection on the water.
I go forward in renewed hope of better times to come.

Ribbontail Lane

Ribbontail lane, is quiet now.
All the vulnerable have disappeared behind closed doors.

Light flows slowly into our hedgerows, once-bare branches begin to bloom.

Ewes care for their new born lambs in the fields.
New life kept safe by ancient dry stone walls.

Fear of catching the disease lingers here.
The cattle and the sheep are in blissful ignorance.

Through the gaps of heavy gates,
Tractor wheels leave tracks, where farmers drive to feed their animals.

A grey heron sits still on the edge of the water, waiting to catch its prey.
Unaccustomed to being disturbed.
Dark eyes watch my every move.

I turn – retrace my footsteps,
as the first birds begin to sing before sunrise.
Song thrushes, robins and blackbirds.

This is the time to think of others
Lie low stay indoors
Until this bitter pandemic passes.



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