Look!
At Last!
In the distance
In the mist
A budding tree
Amongst the greys
The formless days
Grim death gripped
One-liners
Whispered from
The sky watcher’s grave
Swirling snowflakes
Countless outtakes
Someday breaks
With optimism
And ripening fruit
And in the muted
Heather, gold and sage
A pan flute plays.
