the many scenes that pass beyond the glass:
distant crofts give way to barren hills
where black faced sheep graze slowly,
further on, with tangled mane and mud caked coat,
a highland pony dozes, then flicks flies,
more miles ahead, shrinking fields fail to hold back
marching lines of black tarmac
well kept lawns hold smiling children who throw balls
to wagging dogs waiting for Sunday roasts,
the final act takes place on littered streets of shattered glass
where youths mouth obscenities at girls who pass and giggle.
The journey ends, I close the book, so too these moments
stolen from everyday lives, unconnected and unaware.
with a nod to PL,& not a wedding in sight! Good one.
ReplyDeleteI like this particularly the ending
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