Thursday 17 March 2011

Green Lane

Wind carved, the trees bowed
deep to shape the ancient way,
with arch precision.
Rain twisted and sneaked
past the canopy to flush
loose earth from the floor.
Man's irritation
or vision, pushed rock and stone
to side the sunk lane.
Feet have tramped the years
from tor to sea through its aisle
of set direction.
Minds wrestled with all
time's problems, oblivious
of its green shelter.
Slowly the sheep's path
became a Devon trackway
linking place and lives.

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