To carry on the affection ,
Came by enemy's appreciation.
And deed to afford ,
To measure the ford.
Who take cleansing ablution of volley,
For making them holy.
Now making us delight ,
Who never get them in sight.
Now what? The life get commotion,
Getting always inanimation emotion.
Fantasy, fantasy deviates aisle in a day,
Still unacquainted! Whence elapse in a dark day.
This craggy place
vehemently clings to
dawn’s perpetual shadow,
the desolate wind arbitrates
with the warm body! Mine.
To the west grey stone
fuse with inhibited sky,
within the brownish bracken
sly vixen gives me a second look,
possibly doesn’t like
my scar fell face!
Alpine flower reaches out
to a watery sun for life,
soon to be put on hold,
but surely an end to
one’s misery?
The fragrance of the morning
send the beast to the wall,
no need of the weatherman
up here. The kennel next to
the cattle grid remains inhabited
the doorway of jute guards against
inclemency.
In this isolated place,
the riverbanks expose all
to winter, cheerless waters
witness a cortege of inanimation,
many shades bestowed by nature
in respect to this
cycle of the seasons!
© Harry J Horsman 2000
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