He’s a glacial mind
ploughing roughshod overland
pushing rude boulders
polishing craggy granite and we
are the moraine in his wake.
Clever. I wonder who you are writing about… :o]
Had to look up moraine — what an absolutely beautiful word! The whole poem’s beautiful, really. Especially dig the image of ‘shearing hilltops.’
Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:
You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Google+ account. ( Log Out / Change )
Connecting to %s
Notify me of new comments via email.
Notify me of new posts via email.
Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.
Join 1,282 other followers
Ray Sharp, The Bard of Liminga