the boy plays on his own, in water                                                                  it can’t be helped.

machines work less in cold,                                                  sheds and lack of encouragement.

the dream, frost cancelled a while. visitors came,                 the day proceeded gently with

stops     and dictation,                                                                                                 who is this?

spring came.   each road a picture, slowly staring,                          visual overload resulting.

i could not breathe

for wondering.

the lime kilns are empty now.

sbm.