Trudging up a slate strewn track,
storm clouds gather.” Let’s turn back.”
As expected son slips over,
knee is cut, face like thunder.
“We should have turned left by the wall,
but, as usual you know it all.”
Two hours later find the path,
grimy rings around the bath.
Muddy boots line the hall,
grubby hand prints on the wall.
Sipping on some Pinot Gris,
his lordship states, “That was a breeze.”
“Tomorrow I want to reach that rock,
the escarpment at the top”.
Puts down her tea with Bergamot
“Do what you like, do what you want”.
Plasters on a mud face pack,
rolls her eyes and turns her back.
GRAY - For: Color My World - Nette Onclaud
by Patricia Lucas-Clarke