Sunday, 5 June 2011

Invasion on the Farm

I am Prytherch.  Forgive me.  I don't know
What you are talking about; your thoughts flow
Too swiftly for me; I cannot dawdle
Along their banks and fish in their quick stream
With crude fingers.  I am alone, exposed
In my own fields with no place to run
From your sharp eyes.  I, who a moment back
Paddled in the sharp grass, the old farm
Warm as a sack about me, feel the cold
Winds of the world blowing.  The patched gate
You left open will never be shut again.

No comments:

Post a Comment