birdsong (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
Evan Tyler on hugh
11 minutes ago
R A Porter on The Eternal Flame
27 minutes ago
Robert C Gaulke on Like Children
38 minutes ago
Nigel Astell on IMG_20240414_165928_HDR.jpg
1 hour ago
Graham Sherwood on SWINGING
1 hour ago
leon stolgard on SWINGING
1 hour ago
leon stolgard on Countdown to coffins and cremations
2 hours ago
Graham Sherwood on Glenda
2 hours ago
Auracle on Bucket Of Love
2 hours ago
Auracle on Getting in the Right Frame of Mind
2 hours ago