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
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