Brown, parched, burnt; Fire kissed by sun, Ochre meadows of strewn stubble Drift away from damp, decaying barns As the last orange gleam of day Steals into another warm night.
Crows weave in high taut circles, Spilling their croaked admonishments Over empty fields left to sleep in the glow Of a resplendent transparent moon.
Broad ridged expanses Lie naked underfoot, Imbued with the toil of the forgotten.
Ancient flint spires pierce the horizon Stacked on land veined by silting slits of stony wetness. All is still ; silent in remembrance.