An Old Welsh Hill Farmer Poem by Richard George
An Old Welsh Hill Farmer
Most days he sees nobody.
Then you glint in his radar.
In a flash his eye peregrine-stoops
to the billionth billionth pixel.
Your pilgrimage through contour-lines is on his land.
'Just asking.
If they don't speak, you know
there's something wrong with 'em, see?
You're all right'.
A few words. All it takes.
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5/7/2024 9:23:22 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Quite a sharp shot! And at the very core & soul of the higher-borne reclusive type of human mental standing!