Sunday, 18 March 2018

Peccadillo

by Aileen Paterson

We coorie in
settle into nooks
warmed and fed
with home made cake
cold hands holding
toasty mugs of tea
notebooks nestling in laps
ready to capture
every moment of
this clear morning
bright with promise
and blue skies
our eyes wide open.
The barge slips
through broken ice
shifting sullen thoughts
that are lost
in the black water.  

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