18 Feb The Fen Traveller

In the grey light of a fenland winter The scouring wind peels back The peat, blows away Reed fragments, leaves Tumbled sand and silt. The fens drop inch by inch Into the past, falling into fields Poplar belted, where in summer canopies The golden oriole whistled. But now, limbs bare, Trees punctuate tired stubbles, Chess boarded...