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by Ben Pickard Feb 5, 2018
Nature, environment /
The crunch of frost gave way beneath my feet
As the morning sun fought off the stubborn mist.
How odd! to see the pregnant fields and wheat
Transformed so soon and by this icy twist.
September had not yet dawned but that
Could not quite warm my breath or rosy cheeks -
The land about was still quite full and fat...
Did that not make this amble cruel and bleak?
I came, then, to the river's friendly bend,
Where at this time of year it trickles so.
But hark! the icy queen would even this suspend:
No current or no sound to prove the flow.
A 'tick' then came to me upon the still
And hurled me back to life from where I stood;
Almost noon and yet this casual chill
Did still abound throughout the open fields and woods.
And by and by, I made my way toward my house,
Accepting that and all I couldn't change;
For not a pheasant, badger, squirrel, hare or mouse
Could help but find this eerie morning cold and strange.
by Shoreditchpoet Dennis
Lovely Ben. Pastoral, echoes of Frost & Yeats - but in a pastoral poem that’s always going to happen I guess. Still, you have your own style. Looking forward to reading more ????.
by Ben Pickard
Thank you, Dennis
by Gracy Judith
I love the imagery in these lines. Beautifully penned. A well-deserved win!
Thanks so much, Gracy
by cassie hughes
Wow! Another well deserved win. You are as talented and clever with words as I remembered. So glad that I have finally found my way back here.
I felt almost stuck in reading this, similar to the way a moist finger will stick to cold things. I mean in pretty much the exact same way. Immersed me, thank you.
by Fredy RoMa0u Sanchez
Ben! Great piece dude
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