Wood For The Trees

With balloons of lead, freely I floated,
Never too soon for my ending;
A bird in the hand with olives I coated;
The more that’s said, soon mending.

On laurels I slept with Time outrun
And resurfaced for the good battle;
When the last cow dies there will be no Sun,
No stones in the sky for the cattle.

Using wire, masts and copper
We called a vet to inspect a sick Friesian;
He spigotted heaven with spotted grasshopper
And found the heifer-lesion.

They showed me the bark with vascular wilt,
Teachings kept me on my knees;
Circumferenced trunks with a black quilt,
They could not see the wood for the trees.

I’m writing now, undisconcerted,
Until I’ve burst through the surface of adage,
Their pith the stuff and substance subverted,
The vet took his tools in his baggage.