The Shadow of Box Hill

Busy rows stand silent
beneath the flat peaks,
Sheltered by the wind,
Blowing around the sun.

Soft paths carve away
gentle green, well worn,
Borrowing the light
as it fades with shade.

Knurled limbs break the line,
Glowing contrast in blue,
Hiding the forgotten world
with a deep heavy sigh.

Dying white scars the face
above, tired and lonely sky,
Watching on with hope
that it too may find love soon.

Hard ground hums alone,
Expecting to be unheard
by all but the unexpected few,
Some who understand the tune.

Between the two a busy
silence reigns above the noise,
Absorbing it all in thoughts
on a plain white wall.

the shadow of box hill


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