Thunder Over The Park Poem by james watkin
Thunder Over The Park
We're all of one flock
Sheep's hour besting.
Then roused; unhuddled;
Fence-scratched; unfound -
Wolf pack's cowing grind
Heard o'er that mound?
Shepherd's irised crook
Hangs the park o'er.
Whose rim's a puddle's.
Whose brim's a pool's -
Off that bearded gold
Whose light unspools?
Sunday, December 1, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: family,storm
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12/21/2025 4:50:43 AM # 1.0.0
