The inky grey

the sound of a distant church bell
flocks of starlings
in the village
all men are dressed in black
proceeding to the grave site
I can see it from my refuge
high on the hill
in the weakening winter sun
who Matthews was
I hardly knew
whether he fought
I do not know
bound for the earth
all in his time
I light a cigarette
and going downwind
I descend
into the inky grey
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jan 30
About this poem:
slice of life

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Comments (3)

OZ, you do know how to paint a clear picture with your words. I felt as though I was actually there, as the main character in a movie scene. Vivid and intriguing...very
Brilliant Didi, glad it came over well for you. wine
Enjoyed reading that slice
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