Where I Stood Poem by Ian Bowen
Where I Stood
Scattered villages I view,
from this slope, where sheep roam
in their dirty fleeces of Winter.
A wind from the north, bites,
and the crackle of dead heather,
snaps beneath my booted feet.
Soon I will go down to the shelter
of my beloved valley.
There I will look upwards,
and imagine my figure,
black against the cold mountain.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
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4/23/2024 9:02:22 PM # 1.0.0.1119
