It’s cold out
In the morning
Air
No sign of traffic
Not that I care
The fields are
Empty and covered
In drew glistening
In the moonlight
The dogs of running
Caught sight of a hair
Out of sight now
Without a care
I hear his panting
And heavy breathing
Through nose
Against grass rustles
With little toes
The hairs just playing
His usual game
Lets Simba close
Then does the same
Turns and sprints the
Other way under a fence
Just out of harm’s way
It’s cold out
But such fun to be
Alive
Fingers frozen having
For breath to strive
Every inhalation a
Reminder of being
Of finding those things
That are seldom seen
Angles playing in fields
Of green keeping watch
Trying not to be seen
It’s cold out
one question..the ‘hair’ you refer to,did you mean ‘hare’?
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one answer do you really think I cared at stupid o’clock….!
I had a quick look at your site…. I didn’t read anything after
your comment I would have found hit hard to be…. constructive!
my mum used to say if you have nothing nice to say then just
shut up… I’ll pass her your number ;D
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