Mist low in the valleyHangsAs the sun cuts through;The coldBurns as the stride breaksMolecular strands; The breath is cut shortAs feet passSheep which stationaryLieIn quiet contemplation makeSilver of advent dew sparklesIn drifts of white The damp tarmac glistensA royal pathwayIn clouds descending.
-
Follow
Following
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
My Devon Life 