Weald Poem by Stefan Splawinski
Weald
junction of three counties
in the early morning still
picking sweet whortleberries
looking down from oaken hill
where lord tennyson lived
with silence there i stood
merging shadows of the fox
on the edge of wibley wood
Saturday, February 20, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: silence
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Blackdown Sussex UK 1950's
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8/24/2026 9:56:43 AM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
