. dorset countryside .

we used to sit the rise and think of this.

drive the evening hunting the blue           flax fields .

found and waded the poppies outside the dyke, then

worked the red thread.



danced  the lane,                 brown boots through dust.


look at me.



i sometimes sit and think of this, sometimes   dream

in bad, often in yellow.


rape covers the land in places, my eyes           smarting.


so once again we speak in                                     crosses. i


think the hanky may be yours.









relocated, boots still apply…





One thought on “. dorset countryside .

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