i dream of going home...and didn't rhyme pillock...


Vale of Mowbray

I was cushioned in the vale and yonder...
The hills rise holding the white scar.
I drop my eyes to some paper that
My teacher says I must look on...
Must chant numbers... in my case quietly.

Uncushioned, pining for the pins that pricked
Hems of mosses and leaves that wept their
Sweet cool caverns I eye a hillock.
I exhale a sweet breath knowing the gust
Of air is the sound of me turning enemy.






Poetry by jenks The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 598 times
Written on 2013-06-21 at 22:33

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There's a lovely and appealing freshness to "hems of mosses and leaves"!
2016-09-15