bucolic

bucolic

Friesian

from the small
white clouds
crowding the
spring sky
at noon
a downward
flitter-flutter
of joy to
the ear
a lark
on the wing
near the pylons
of dangerous
voltage the
piebald yearlings
with mascaraed
eyes chewing
it over that
paddock over,
hearing the
lark’s song that
trembled like
grass like waters
as it flew so
close to the
sagging cables.
would that sky
turn to thunder
the lark drop
silent to the
nest in a
muggy
field?

clevedon valley
6 october, 2013

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