Nine miles of dirt road

On the sillion road in a morning walk
Paced a tree’s branches in winded brisk;
A cold Autumn’s day, a dappled one it was
In bleak December. After a frost, dew
Sat chilled on browning grass, moles stippled
In a plotted earth, a crimson sky fresh
Fiery in eastward clouds like a phoenix.

I perchance a smelling of wood-smoke,
Comes the white bone ash slow and clutching
On steady air; a crow flight forth on wimpling wing
Sweeps smooth the bow-bend wind.

How crisply sudden the quilted hills, patchwork
In a fold edged by pastures dotted with cow
And horse, voices gnawing on winter’s vapor
Off forth in a breeze, snowflakes through them
Mells white on the fringe and fray of the dirt road.

Apart wide and trodden, is anything milk to
A thought, so sighs a mind, a touch of heaven
Furl fasts a journey, I grasp at the child things
In a memory; a time can there be such
Luring to a blind man in a world which barely
Breathes? What bareness like widowed wombs.
And yet, Spring and its pleasures wait for me anew.

Copyright © 11/28/17 lance sheridan®

NP Nine miles of dirt road

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4 comments on “Nine miles of dirt road

  1. Barbara says:

    Lance this is a jewel – love the memories this brought back to my mind – as I read this, your voice displayed each line to a point of causing this reader to feel as though she was right there “in the moment”, you capture such magnificent images such as, “voices gnawing on winter’s vapor,” I’d say, “You Aced This One!!” Barb 🙂

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