To walk the green and harrowed lines
of nearly empty earth and sky
straight and undelighted, grasping
at nothing, might be an answer.
Till the lark rises,
and I grasp.
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Up the road or down, sometimes further afield, often not for long, we're out most days.
1 comment:
"Till the lark rises..."
Those few words paint a canvas full of images. Beautiful.
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