Katherine Davidson
September Fells
Bracken sprouts
On stale bread fields.
Winding brooks
Somersaulting,
Tumbling,
catching the sun.
The silver linings,
On shadowy clouds.
A patchwork throw
Of heather and ferns,
Stitched in threads of scree
By an arthritic hand.
Littered with weathered figures,
Their shadows
Spread like dark capes,
Lagging aside them.
Dry stone boundaries
crumble.
Spelling out unheeded pleas.
(written at age 13)
Page(s) 92
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