Waiting among meadows. A poem by Jane Dougherty

In this place of meadows,
birds sing, rain falls,
flower decor changes
from pink and blue,
to white and gold,

sky unscarred with streaked vapour
stretches full of buzzards
and battle crows,
a thrush singing,
while time flows and pours,

petals fall, ditches overflow,
the phone rings, silent inbox fills
with messages, children, friends
just checking
that someone answers.

Time flows slow as dew falling,
days cross-hatched with rain,
and we ask about the weather
just to imagine sun or rain
brushing your distant faces,

because though birds sing,
petals fall, and time flows,
pours, ditches fill,
the lane is empty,
no one comes.


My origins are in Irish fields, now living in French fields, writing and learning who is singing what. https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/


  1. Thanks for publishing this one. I know I sound miserable as sin, but I like the quiet really.

  2. Lovely

    1. Cheers, Alethea 🙂

  3. Yes, I call my Dad, or he calls me, daily now…to check if someone answers.

    1. It’s what parents do. More so than children…

  4. I like this poem! The pandemic has made us be aware of solitude, appreciate it, and fear it.

    1. Thank you! Possibly those who were always aware of the beauty of quiet have appreciated the quiet spreading everywhere, while those who enjoy what makes the unquiet of urban living find it frightening because it signifies the slowing of the machine.

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