Woodcock

In darker recesses of damp wood

Merging with bracken and leaf fall

Woodcock sits perfectly motionless

Waits out way of days brave world.

For the drawing of dusk is his hour

To fly up withershins over the trees;

By intimation of twilight's beginning

Play game of moontopped canopy.

Left, left, right - deft jinks of delight

Silently underneath bough, round crown

Never head-on for more than a blink

In copse-hid course of roding flight.

Elusive treasure, ethereal on wing

Earth set gem come ghost of night

Too swift through dark to bid farewell

In nocturne course of roding flight.