Size / / /

for Sovay

He is not a lord like Milord Byron;

None of us is beneath his notice.

He sits in bushes and spies on us.

When the moment is right we go into his sack.

He empties that sack in a dreary garden

Where souls are planted in long straight rows,

Sending up leaves as thick as your hand

And a stalk with clusters of shiny, black fruit.

Tony Grist ( was born in London and lives in Oldham, England, on the edge of the Pennine hills. He keeps rabbits and likes to take photographs of churches.
%d bloggers like this: