In the garden near the groaning sycamore tree, the young boy wept
his tears like
slow, thin, undulating brooks, running through darkening tree
his sighs
like breezes full of morning frost and glistening dew
his movement
like the fox in its nervous darting through the undergrowth.
Staccato light
broke through the canopy in sudden rushes of warmth
filling
his mangled, broken and desiccated soul as he rose and returned
to
the snarling, unkempt, excluded, rumbling village
hidden
between wild fields of wind-tossed, rushed and unsettled wheat
and
vast fields of maturing potato, peas and fruit-
raspberry, blackberry, plumb and strawberry.
Here
he lived in graceless solitude, amongst the ignorant.
Gloom
spreading its ashen features into hut and home
over field and hill,
glen, lake, stream and pond
as
the steely, deadly, grey and black grasp of early Winter
takes charge
of village, the land and its people.
It
was a time of struggle, of want, of hardship,
a
time of dying.
to
the snarling, unkempt, excluded, rumbling village
hidden
between wild fields of wind-tossed, rushed and unsettled wheat
and
vast fields of maturing potato, peas and fruit-
raspberry, blackberry, plumb and strawberry.
Here
he lived in graceless solitude, amongst the ignorant.
Gloom
spreading its ashen features into hut and home
over field and hill,
glen, lake, stream and pond
as
the steely, deadly, grey and black grasp of early Winter
takes charge
of village, the land and its people.
It
was a time of struggle, of want, of hardship,
a
time of dying.
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