I know a hidden valley where
The angels play their bagpipes. Why
Should cherubs not prefer our air
To breathless clouds and empty sky?
The skirl transports us to the brink
Of paradise, while even white
Angelic wings impart like drink
Their carefree spirit through the night.
And we, constrained upon this Earth,
Attempt to recreate with words
The gracefulness and, yes, the mirth
Of flying free among the birds.
March 2018
This is my submission to the Oldie Competition in its April 2018 edition. The challenge was to write a poem with the following last words for each line - where, why, air, sky, brink, white, drink, night, Earth, words, mirth, birds. No further guidance or instruction was given.
Having recently visited St Giles Cathedral in Edinburgh and admired the carvings of angels with bagpipes, and having bought a replica to mount on the wall in our house, I chose that as the theme of my poem.
No success this time, but a mention in dispatches as an unlucky runner up.