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Dec 2018
Quietest in the white expanse of winter,
Waiting, watching, the landscape open to my sharp eyes.
A pin dropped in snow would make more noise
Than my perfect, crouching form.
I mark the crows as they flit across the sky,
Warm memories of summer stalking in the hedgerow.
My ears flicker to a distant voice,
As you walk up towards the farm.
I will glide over the crisp snow to rub around your legs,
You and I, both finding our way home.

Jeremy Wyatt.
This poem goes with a large acrylic painting that my Wife Lucia sold for me yesterday. Margaret, who bought it , wanted to hear the story behind the paint.
jeremy wyatt
Written by
jeremy wyatt  With Fairy Lu in Dunblane
(With Fairy Lu in Dunblane)   
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