The Shoot
Wandering down, the field flattens
Towards the darkened river.
The chestnut moves like a sail
Stands aloof in it setting.
Yellow canker caress the meadow,
Bees lunge into waiting flowers.
Smells of distant cows.
The dogs running around,
Guns on shoulders sounding
Across banks of soft fruit.
Dreams drifting like clouds,
Bounding countries that don’t exist
Lost in this mist, heading home
Peacefully until the stillness ceases
01.12.18
Copyright © Suzanne Jones | Year Posted 2020
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