There it was
pale shine calling
from the field ditch
waiting to be found
And so I stooped
climbed down
through tangled hawthorn
blackberry and rose
cut arm and hand
left a little blood
pulled it free
held it in my palm
held it
and wondered
how something
so small and fine
could hold a Fox
and all it was
Published by colinhopkirk
Poet, writer, artist. Writing and performing in England, publishing anywhere. Member of Hexameter performing poets. Workshops, projects, cross-arts collaborations.
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Colin Hopkirk Poetry 