Half-buried, on his side, their giant’s shoulder a shelf of ancient Telford road, he embraced the stillness of the left piece of ground: then the girls slipped giggling into his sun-lee seeking Gowther, who had been lost for days, their chatter and pink frocks shoaling in and out of the thicket of spades left by [...]
PerPoBlo
Poetry from Argyll-based poet, Charles Dixon-Spain