Home Thoughts In rush-hour traffic on a foreign bridge you idly muse on how this sinking sun will later tint the tide-swell of a distant lough coax errant shadows from the west silhouette those bulk-wrapped haystacks sketch old ley-lines on a stubbled earth hordes of hooded black-backed gulls in circles over a harvest field and reflect how it might etch a hell-bent whitethorn proud from an old rogue sycamore; touch copper onto leafy beech hum water-mint and meadowsweet crushed on the baling trailers' turn; glaze the hill-side gorse to clotted gold. | Home Thoughts In rush-hour traffic on a foreign bridge you muse on how this sinking sun might elsewhere tinge a far-off lough coax in shadows from the west silhouette bulk-wrapped haystacks sketch ley-lines on stubbled earth pebble-dash the black-backed gulls in circles on a harvest field and reflect on how its rays might etch the whitethorn proud from sycamore touch copper onto leafy beech glaze hillside gorse to clotted gold; mull meadowsweet and water-mint crushed on the baling trailers' turn. |
Annemarie 08/2015
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