The Tents
By birksy
Camped in a field, The 7:55’s no way to be woken, Where are we today? Another green field of no distinction. Put on all my clothes, then venture out, No sooner have I left, my feet are soaked right through. Brush the horse, stroke his long back, Breathe out plumes, breathe in ice drops, Dip my head in the cold stream, hold my breath for a time, then soap out the dirt of yesterday, let it dry in the winter sun. Watch the tents, they are my home, But I want more than this, keep on writing, will be one day, the thief of all I see. Another train rumbles by, I stand as proud as I can, catch the eye of a young man, who thinks he might know me. Written December 12th, 2001 © on Dec 13 2001 10:35 PM PST, Simon Birks 0 • 12
AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.
About this line
"Camped in a field,..."