Directions
Blue gold and green, not yet flame
and the burning to ashes of the year.
Sun sails still proud and fierce, but the arc
Is falling into the arms of the trees.
Louis ploughs the bit of field beyond the stream,
turning over chocolate slabs of heavy clay,
drawing furrows of steady tractor noise
through the stillness, projecting into seeded spring,
and in the oak trees by the lane, a hind, wearing
winter acorn-brown, wonders which path to take.
Directions Blue gold and green, not yet flameand the burning to ashes of the year. Sun sails still proud and fierce, but the arcIs falling into the arms of the trees. Louis ploughs the bit of field beyond the stream,turning over chocolate slabs of heavy clay, drawing furrows of steady tractor noisethrough the stillness, projecting … Continue reading DirectionsRead MoreJane Dougherty Writes
