The Mere Of Ice


The morning's walk repair
is stone-in-shoe disturbed
at the cool wind glade:

shadow rush leaves,
contrast light,
flash sun.

The rain worn paper notice,
on the silver slatter-down kiosk
commands us to walk the mere of ice,

blind white,
blotch pools,
slow earth.

But I know it will fail my doubt;
I take the grass and boulder soaring path,
walking up the two bend valley,

watching down
on faith belief
crash-drown.


image: music

music

arts & ego
dish dosh
© & licence

image: set Hear

flock state
Peered
The Mere Of Ice
Northumberland
Intruder Alert
To Let
The 'A' Rush
Server Room
A Mary Car…
Garden
Flock State

Original Poem




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