All flesh is grass ...

Our nearest neighbours are Mr and Mrs Matcham -

Their tiny bungalow is shaken twice hourly by the London train - 

They're in their late eighties, still bright eyed, still brimming with kindly life - 

Mr Matcham worked on the railways, man and boy -  

One white Christmas he gave us a gift of raven black glinting coal - 

Mrs Matcham will call out when dinner's ready - we'll hear her voice across the rails -

Gerald - dinner - dinner - 

This afternoon, I walked out into the fields behind their bungalow - 

The green wheat rippled in the wind like water - 

I thought about past chapters in my life, and those to come - 

Somewhere there would be photographs of Gerald and Eve in their youthful beauty - 

All flesh is grass, I thought - 

All its beauty is like the flower of the field - 

15.15

Tuesday 23 June 2015

East Stoke 

Dorset