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Winter Town

by Chris Hubbard

This is my vision of a certain cast of English village (not so much in springtime).

Winter Town

 

March winds stir listless eddies,

fluke in tired gusts over thin pools,

flare through fields of stubble

then flag, exhausted, sour and wheezing

from the blowing day;

coughing, rubbing arthritic fingers,

cold as a church bell sounds the hours.

 

Spring will be late this...

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Saturday 23rd December 2017 3:13 am

arthritic   exhausted   March   memories   monochrome   mourners   singing   storms   stubble   sun-filled   thunder

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