Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 20
The hearth had yet
to warm a toe, an hour
before the paling

The rain had gone

now comes the cold

profound, inactive ,cold

Assumed a duelling clarion
across the mustered aerials,,

slung, humboldt in the jangled dark,
inanimate
In the hush of these ice-bound mornings,
sound travels,
The local lesser-black backs have
a regular tear-up with a couple of herons
that kip down by the frozen willow,
On low-pressure mornings, it's all a bit windy
and lost
In the cold-high-overs it hovers
forever, cupping the lowland with voice
A W Bullen
Written by
A W Bullen  Cardiff
(Cardiff)   
184
         irinia, vb, old poet MK, Mike Adam, Ken Pepiton and 4 others
Please log in to view and add comments on poems