logo image The Official Ian Miller Website

Grey Trees

Grey trees,
blushed with blue,
Sit unsure
on the furrows of a charcoal curve.

Pitt black lines,
Measured angles,
All sagging with damp,
Support this improbability.

When the winds come!
When the winds come!
The measured angle will fail,
The fibres will snap.

See where the crows nest now,

Not here.

They know the trees will fall,

Down into the hollow,

Where the cows come to drink.

Comments are closed.