A cloudless sky hangs heavie above mee from mine grassy vantage point. I’m mesmeris’d by the orange suit’d gatekeeper keeping watch o’er the hege of hawthorn. Its sweete scented flow’rs now long gone.
Another then joynes the firste, her false eyes wide upon those amber wings. She basks by the pallid brambles flowers scatter’d well betwixt natur’es barb’d wire. The twisting unwelcoming thorns of the brier’s coil’d stem.
Mine eyes scour the hege’row, the start of haws and sloes apparent but the gate they guardeth remains unseen. Are they there to stop me ent’ring or what is beyond, getting free?