A Home On The Belgium Poem by Tinnie Moe

Green windfields on cows
and pigs a little with a weathleaf at my lips
Windmills and faeries around

They shatter gold and dust sweety sweets on the ground
where cold chilly morning has lost its own dawn
and evening crossed noon has had already spawn
We'd play at the hay
freezed with pumpkins and clay

of horses and copperbirds, metal decayed
and our clothes would be wounded
with the flesh they'd behaved

Colors of golden
sunburns explained

and not ever once layed a pencil of birds
in moist mouldry woods