a tree fell down
lonely for a minute
then
moss march
a rock rolled over
then it lay still
empty
for a minute
then
moss march
the sky up there
is blue you know
no point
waiting for a sign
when any tree can bear a
moss march
this is the time
of the
moss march
© Frank Prem, 2017
August 2017 Poem #25: Woolshed walk: picturing the ethereal
Frank Prem Poetry 
Superb conjunction of poem and photos, Frank.
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Thanks Mick. I’m no photographer, but point and shoot works well for me.
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It certainly works well here, Frank.
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Poetry walks, Frank! 🙂 🙂 I like it! You won’t mind me including one next Monday?
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Not at all Jo. They’re a good way to go.
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🙂 🙂
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Pingback: Jo’s Monday walk : Carding Mill Valley | restlessjo
Thanks again for the link Jo. Beware the marching moss!
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Lovely post! I’ll be sure to watch out for all the moss! 🙂
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Keep your eyes peeled, and maybe don’t stand still too long!
Thanks for the comment and for stopping by. Cheers.
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Okie dokie! And pleasure! Your blog is lovely 🙂
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Thank you.
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