Walking Miss Mable

Out early, a walk with Mabel,

a boisterous breeze

sweeps across the dry paddock

and nudges my shoulder,

urging me on, before

dancing along the hedgerow,

each tree and bush shuddering

in turn as if passing bad news or

sharing a secret with one another.

Mabel, lifts her nose to taste the news

but is unimpressed, and resumes

ploughing grasshoppers from

the bleached, flattened mow.

We are on our first date,

her real beau is on holiday

so, she is playing hard to get,

I feel inferior, tentative even

as I am an amateur walker

and far too generous with her

desired wilful detours.

Once home, our eyes meet

both asking the same question,

shall we do this again?

Not at 5am I silently plead.

Published by grahamrsherwood