Poetry Blogs (farmland)
Sitting to the east
Sloping down to the edge
Of that other world
In the summer sun
In the winter chill
The sentinel watched over
The little family in the cottage in the hollow
Lately it had felt her sorrow
It knew when she left Pant y Lleiniau
And walked slowly along the cart track
To reach the little bridge under the trees
Where she crossed Nant yr Efail ...
Wednesday 10th July 2019 5:20 pm
I rejoice to see that old wood five-bar gate
that still stands guard beneath the ancient beech
to a field sloping gently down the hill.
The gate from an old farm track - now lost to time -
has seen so many seasons, so many harvests pass
and must have known an age of scythes and stooks
of horse drawn harrows, ploughs and wooden carts.
What could it tell of the village...
Wednesday 6th February 2019 12:08 pm