Sunday afternoon

 

Poulenc clarinet flutes in the kitchen,

Hammer blows beat from the cow stalls in the barn,

Woodstove murmurs low in the study,

While rain falls silent on the field outside,

And kestrel perches on the rail of the porch,

Forgetful perhaps of the stone den behind,

The ungainly, unpredictable predators within.

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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.

4 thoughts on “Sunday afternoon”

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