Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Graeme Jamieson ~ Fieldmouse

Where the sharp leaves whish

Beyond the plough-turned furrows

In the black dirt of the hedgerow

Beneath the storm’s grave tail

That is where I mark and mourn

My terrain’s drifted fable

1 comment:

aguy said...

Ah, but its good to read a poem of a mornin'!
Nice and simple a brief glimpse into a tiny little rodent life which contains who knows what emotions, joys, agonies...