Poems

December

12 December 2015

9:00 AM

12 December 2015

9:00 AM

The ferns around the badgers’ sett
are dying down, and fine webs fret
the brambles. By late afternoon
the moon will glint on foxes’ eyes
and owls rehearse sepulchral cries,
and then the badgers start to rise
like shadows from the ground.

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