Wide-open spaces
Rustle of a breeze
Through timeless grass
Birdsong
In flight
Above and out over
Downalong the meadow
Salt sands lay baking
Cracked earth
On barren beaches
Far reach
To past civilisations
Stationed
In retreat
Hillsides
Roll down
By wheat green grass
And corn
Not yet so high
O sigh for summer days
Summer days
Laid sideways such as these
Time
To reflect
To reconnect
With so many
Past
Beginnings
Forgiving
Living
Being alive
With skin
Our closest
Close
Companion
Here
Beside the
Whitest
Wild White Campion
Skin
Cradled around
Your finger
The ring of gold
Of
Past times
Last lines
Left to linger
Left
Bereft
Or bright side
Of many memories
Thoughts
Now to remember
On this quiet
There
Listen to the breeze
Listen
Through timeless grass
From the Collection I Suppose You could Call It Country, available on Kindle
