I've been known to poem occasionally. Here is my latest.
--
Quietly I sit, letting my breath become one with the chirruping crickets, cheeky fingers of wind tickle the back of my neck.
Splashes of liquid sun glide over the golden fields below me, gnarled stands of Juniper and Hawthorn keep watch as centuries roll on.
I long to join them on their journey of eons, whilst all round me are oblivious to the beauty. They bustle on, missing out.
--
Sunday 11th August 2013
Butser Hill
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