Walk with me along the lane where the cyclamen grow and the ferns are thinning.
Along a road, where the shadows fall tall and there are yew berries at my feet. Rose-hips blacken with the sudden cold.
a low slung sun
tyre tracks in dung
Onward to where grass grows through the tarmac and the rose bay willow herb, hogweed and dock, seed and brown.
Where I wal…
