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plod-stuff ( a true story )

…

our elbows glowed where noses shone

us muddled bunch so bumble on

through fields of green in sways of still

there is no breeze today upon


us squelchy sods so yon we plod

with thoughts of warts & peas in pods

as badgers burst & gardens groan

whilst on the road - a toad's skin's shod


our ankles itch - is this a gift?

we look to lunch as pollen drifts

we follow paths & fallow deer

as sieve-like minds they gently sift


when all is spun a tune a is hummed

the back door calls, the walk is done

the annals wait to hear of tales

beneath a montomic sun

...