I remember when young just after the war
Dinner, the hot meal was at lunchtime
I remember pressed tongue for high tea
But mostly I recall a tasty hot rabbit pie.
Sadly, in our haste to rid the world
Of vermin which could have fed a multitude
We invented Myxomatosis which plagued
Every isle round our war hit island.
On a visit to the Orkney islands
The following came to mind
As I lay on the highest hill
Watching clouds go by:
© David Tenneson 2015.
Upon the hillside they played,
sentries here and there with ears erect,
listened, and they watched
for dangers they’d expect.
But death crept unknowing to their door,
where carefree friends had played before.
Cobwebs hang now across the gate
like curtains drawn, they state
that no one lives here anymore.
Flies buzz to and fro
and clear the tomb of physical remains,
but they too become transfixed in spider’s chains.
Bodies lie on paths and roads
mutilated by this foul disease.
No one would recognise a once familiar face,
disfigured and disguised in its last grimace.
But wait, a small white flash has caught the eye.
It seems that all have not succumbed to this foul plague,
and then another and another one runs by.
They run and leap and dance where their unlucky cousins played,
Renewal and rebirth,
immuned by nature’s cleverness,
ensures that we’ll enjoy again their dance upon the Ness.
The Orkney Isle of Sanday
© David Tenneson – August 1988