February 23, 2010

Ramblings


The contouring grooves of ploughing sledges

That leave deep green margins at farm field edges,

Where in hedges, filled with the echoes of words,

The birds, they pluck fibre from herds.


A tattered tin trough where few think to drink water,

A ewe with twin lambs, her son and daughter

Soon due for the slaughter in late of June.

A bloom to be cropped on the harvest moon.


A swaying thistle that the winds will a whistle

Each spike, a whisker from a squirrels grey bristle

With bursting pockets of white fur lockets

Skipping out, rabbit tail cotton sock puppets

That sail where e’er the gales of air may wail,

They quiver along downs or down the long vales.


baby_lamb.jpg


- 6 comments by 1 or more people Not publicly viewable

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  1. Sue

    That’s so cute.

    24 Feb 2010, 20:09

  2. Sue

    Little lambkin.

    26 Feb 2010, 20:02

  3. Sue

    I love the way he’s got a questioning expression on his face.

    28 Feb 2010, 10:38

  4. He’s got a gorgeous face. The poem seemed appropriate as spring is on its way!

    01 Mar 2010, 20:10

  5. Inhelm

    Wohoa you’re sex is on fire!

    25 Mar 2010, 00:39

  6. Inhelm

    I don’t need a parachute

    25 Mar 2010, 00:39


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