Miners Dog
High home summer hill
Straining, sucking, sitting
Staring, stopped and stick-
A pit-prop tight and gripped.
The trees across the valley
Much higher than he can go now.
I pant to reassure him
In time with his withered eyes.
His tongue, tombed gritty green
He’s faithful, though he’s fading
Bones in death-grey jumper
Where will he lead me next?
from 'Layer Cake' 2009
http://amzn.to/vXCEFa
Copyright © Dave Lewis | Year Posted 2020
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