the light at noon
spread over green:
fields of tender green,
recalling that harvest
before time knew all,
but our names.
the seasons reinstate
grass bent beneath
treads of the innocent
who tried remaking the world.
memorials of thorn
uproot in a moment,
and who are we to disturb
what remains underneath.
how many lovers since
haunted by sacrifice
lay nameless across
England's pungent greens.
and with their kiss, we scatter
between the gaps,
in the thriving
meadow soil.
as birds above, explode
from the time-worn trees,
and wheel dreamlike, toward a sun.
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Author:
beano (
Offline) - Published: April 26th, 2022 05:53
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
Offline)
Comments2
An evocative piece. Nicely done.
Lovely writing ))
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