‘Scape

 

A knoll of pine trees

Tops too tall to see

A circle implied

Because there is a seat

At zero point

 

And snow falls:

Flakes congealed into comic blobs

That fall in quiet plops

On branches and,

When straighter, onto

The granite surface

 

The needly floor,

Covering a sleepy earthen

Solemn way to

Narnia or Middle Earth

 

No lamppost,

Elf, or orc, either, only a winter

Day on planetary sides

Where worlds meet

 

A place made up

And does exist

For I am here

 

C L Couch

 

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