makes the traffic sleek
as it pushes through the wet.
Some closer darker cloud edges
across the grey skies,
and Thought says that truth is
a train that passes
fields of cows unwittingly waiting
to be slaughtered, and butchered.
It calls at one station, then another
where the dark doors open
on sheep at rest, or listlessly eating.
All newly shorn.
Ubiquitous pink tufts of Himalayan Balsam
flag that day is over and done.
Alan John Stubbs(Copywrite retained by Alan John Stubbs.)
Hoping that you like this. Let me know - all comments are welcome.
PS my books ident and the lost box of eyes are available to buy online at The Onslaught Press here The Onslaught Press
or from Amazon and all good retailers.