Beneath the trees

Reading Harriet Goodchild’s new post has inspired this attempt at a triolet, more laborious than Harriet’s small, perfectly formed poem.

bad-weather2

Beneath the trees, where ragged leaves

Cling through the storms and winter sun,

The river flows. Wild water heaves

Beneath the trees, where ragged leaves

Blow with the wind like tattered sleeves

Of worn out gowns. The blackbirds run

Beneath the trees, where ragged leaves

Cling through the storms and winter sun.

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Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

7 thoughts on “Beneath the trees”

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