deepundergroundpoetry.com
Weekend eve
We stood the moorland hill
watched the quilted valleys
green and yellow harvest
midst bracken-brown and heather
winberry fruits and rabbits
silent blue and clouds.
Weekend eve drowsy pubs at four.
Cattle lowing in the valley bottoms
the tiring sun sinks below Long-Mountain
shivers down our spines autumn mellow
red-kite one last glide 'til night.
Call back the dog we've had our day
whisper as we go, do not disturb
tread soft the curlew sleeps
white upon the hill sheep
watch us on our way . . . .
silent as the darkening sky.
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