Flash

~

a grim day, 

all shades brown

the sky copper dull,

our stream in spate

colour of milked tea, sepia 

monochrome dour

an old heron, 

one of three territorially spaced

still, socially distanced, 

stands grumbling on black

flat matted rushes, bedraggled 

his wispy Fu-Manchu beard

droopily stirring the tea,

it is nose-stinging bitter but

we pretend brave

hop-scotching path puddles

that were inundated yesterday,

trolling over the precarious bridge 

whose planks wheeze like

Long John Silver,

I see the flash

you sadly not,

two seconds and gone,

morning’s only colour

it’s must be two years 

at least since you 

were the lucky one

I remember it still

*

© Graham R Sherwood 01/23