evenings (Remove filter)
The Bench
I sit outside the door
on a slate bench
my back against the cottage wall
in the evening sun
listening to a blackbird sing
the most astonishing sweet notes
In front of me
there is elderflower
honeysuckle
buttercups spangle the uncut grass
and the old larch looms in its corner
beyond the ancient stones of Hafod
which mark my plot
The sun has not long returned
...Sunday 24th June 2018 9:22 am
Recent Comments
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Bonnie Madleen
7 hours ago
Hélène on Letting Go
10 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on BUCKET LIST
10 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Letting Go
12 hours ago
Red Brick Keshner on part savage, part human
12 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Down on my uppers
12 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Weekly WalkaboutsVerse, E.G., Poem 61 of 230: WORSLEY VILLAGE
12 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Anyone For Tennis
13 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Compost
13 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on part savage, part human
13 hours ago