Winter Fields of Laois

Winter Fields Of Laois Wind song whispered between drystone wall and hawthorn morning cold stiffening face and fingers every clod-n-sod is an obstacle, my head bowed like a bull turning to look down the hill moments pain and reflection. A bitter droning voice pressing coat to spine... now curved as an eggshell Above the trees a crow a raggy dancer on the wind is driven by the music and rises