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
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