Tag: Poetry

Words – The Bog Cotton…

The bog cotton peaks above the heath,
a telescope for the wind.
As sheep fleece is caught on the lines,
of exposed peat and soil,
crumbling roots, earth and stone.

Words – For the second morning…

For the second morning in a row,
two crows are dancing,
in the rowan tree.
On branches too thin to hold,
their omens and secrets.
Eating the berries, orange tinged and plenty –
“It’s going to be a hard winter, aye.”

Discarded berries on the ground below.
The blackbird rushes over –
“I want some of that too!”
As a crow looks down, ruffling a feather.

(18th August 2015)

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