The Patient

Like a sickly patient the leaves look lurid A medieval landscape Ending at the gathering spire A contrast even against the grey sky It looks as if the earth wears this small hat I hold my father’s hand As we walk through the rural The only diversion for a dog A morning coat Unrestrained by its’ young owner The body falls with broken shackles Stripes across the face The timeless key floats By rope and line Toward the strands