Two Cumbrian Poems

End of the Summer

Autumn has come early:
Drawing clouds like curtains;
Saying, in chilly winds,
“Too late”; imposing rain.
We slip off up the hill,
Admire ignorant sheep
And watch a raven fall.
I stumble over rocks
And think of hospitals.
My brother talks of death
And wills. I admire him
For being factual.
“See you soon,” my love says.
We drift, like clock hands, home.

Yewbarrow

Against the rocks
The shepherd stands
Our cottage mocks
His calloused hands.
Yet as we sleep
The wild ones wake
And round dumb sheep
Their shadows shake.

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About bsixsmith

I am a writer of stories and poems - published by Every Day Fiction, The London Journal of Fiction, 365 Tomorrows and Det Poetiske Bureau - and a columnist for Quillette, Areo and Bombs & Dollars.
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