~
dropping down the hill
from Bozeat rise, the
temperature fell clear
two degrees as the hail
stones began lightly
peppering the bonnet
of the car,
we knew it was coming
having noticed it hanging
secreted behind a black
cloud up ahead, like a poor
robber in a cheap film,
a tiresome diversion
took us past a green
burial site and we spent
the rest of the journey
discussing the merits
of either saplings or
headstones and if one
had a choice of species
I couldn’t decide between
spruce or maple as I
rather like the idea of
being reincarnated as
a cello next time around
*
© Graham R Sherwood 03/25
grahamrichardsherwood.co.uk 