The top row of stones
runs uphill like a string of beads,
cool and heavy, laid along the wall.
I can almost see holes
in their middles,
a thread running through,
almost hear the thick stony clatter
as the giantess of the hill
lifts them up from where they rest,
adorns her mighty green breast.
2 comments:
The image of the stone wall as a necklace draped across the hill's breast is so good, so right. Beautiful.
Great to see more poems appearing, and such intense little nuggets they are too.
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