WRITTEN IN PARCHMENT

The ground sits scorched in sun binding rays,

And becomes an ancient scripture,

Feint lines appear

From centuries past

Showing a usage long lost…

Tramlines set no more than metres wide,

Show the tithe lines of strip farming,

A populace field,

Supporting the sustinence

Of a whole village…

Long lost to the city’s thrall.

The field now lies fallow

Unused for centuries…

Save for the salutary grip

Of sheep’s masticating molars.

And I drive by at 40 miles an hour,

And see the signs of a better time,

But cannot stop to look and wander…

For I have a schedule,

And thinking and exploring

Are not on my manifest.

Dale.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s