As I sit under the tree , it’s leaves canapy above
As if a spy blue sky peeks through the gaps
The song of breeze takes me away to places I love
In distance I hear ,maybe birds I think perhaps

The old dog lays at my side, snaping at Flies
I try read his mind, and he blinks as if to hide
Then with a moan he shuts his eyes
And into dreams he’s gone with pride

Below the hill I hear the stream trickle past
And I imagine all of life’s upsets
On a line and out I cast
Away they go, no more to feel or to fret

Written by E. M. Rushton
Aug 16th 2018