The Rye

By | 1 March 2017

after Samuel Palmer

Here we are walking
in moonlight through fields
of rye we pass through
their pale sea in
the summer night three
of us walking between
the bent heads the feathered
napes of holy rye
where we pass the field
opens the moon silvers
the path ahead of us
three of us walking one
will carry on and carry
on long after two
have called their dogs home
one will walk a strait
path through the silver
fields that do not end

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