rifles (Remove filter)
Mud
dusk in the copse is foggy, and after rain there's
mud, so you watch your step as rubber
boots kick life into the mess.
no rainbow
lights the ploughed churning, or stars sputter at such
perfect mire, it harks instead at
mad trenches, branches
dripping onto brambles sharp as barbed wire.
can worms survive this clay or do
gills get jammed as mouths and rifles did, each
...
Thursday 6th August 2020 1:47 pm
Recent Comments
leon stolgard on Countdown to coffins and cremations
36 minutes ago
Graham Sherwood on Glenda
41 minutes ago
Auracle on Bucket Of Love
49 minutes ago
Auracle on Getting in the Right Frame of Mind
53 minutes ago
Graham Sherwood on Back to nature.
1 hour ago
Landi Cruz on Strolling Players
1 hour ago
Auracle on The Magic in Mundane
4 hours ago
Bethany Sallis on Against the background of a Winter Sky
4 hours ago
David RL Moore on Against the background of a Winter Sky
5 hours ago
Bethany Sallis on Against the background of a Winter Sky
5 hours ago