When all else is dead, a black mulch
Around bare trees that worship the
Barren fields with bone-raw hands,
These flames howl with life, dancing,
Skittering with pop and crack as they
Sing bright songs of defiance against
Mist-shrouded hills and flooded fields,
Feasting greedily on woodland corpses.
January 2016
YOU ARE READING
Fragments And Reflections
PoetryPoems looking at everything and anything not in my other collections. Here you'll find life and time, wild oceans and lonely coast paths, busy streets and empty hotel rooms, wild concerts and late night writing. All just fragments and reflections, l...
