A plane scratches the clear blue sky

leaving a milky blemish on the virgin canvas.


A posse of rabbits bob and weave in a meadow

of buttercups and daisies

until their playtime is interrupted by the bark of a dog.

Ears alert, noses twitching and eyes scanning the terrain,

they disappear in unison to their underground bunkers.


A large bull controls the adjacent field

patrolling his turf with majestic confidence

filling the air with a musky steam

from his powerful frame.


On the other side of the fence

a party of seasoned ramblers

tentatively negotiate a nobbly stile.

One by one they nervously filter along the path

constantly keeping an eye on Jake La Motta


They arrive at a watering hole

already earmarked as a resting place

for their aching plates of meat.

Pints of the local brew of John Willie Lees

is the order of the day...for their tonsils...and not their feet !


High above the scene

starlings congregate and balance with ease

on a telephone line

exchanging tweets on the twittersphere.


Below a large ginger tom prowls around

in hope of a fallen tweety pie.

But all he gets is a volley of deposits

from the eyes in the sky.


Mother ! Can you see me ? ►


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Patricia and Stefan Wilde

Fri 11th Jan 2013 19:00

Jake La Motta-wow!what a scrapper!
and what a poem!xx

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