Writing

Poetry Reading: Fog on the Moor

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Fog on the Moor

 

Early morning sun shines over the heath,

A rider sits upon his gallant steed.

A splash of brown in the white tendrils that smother the earth,

It’s barely visible through the heavy fog.

 

The dart of a head, lifted high by a sound,

A bleat to the herd who’ve drifted away in the dark.

Pistol raised high, he aims for the stag,

Barely visible through the heavy fog.

 

Shot firing true, the stag falls without grace,

Hitting the ground, it’s legs sprawled around.

Eyes staring blank ahead.

The rider drops from his horse, steely gaze in his eyes,

Barely visible through the heavy fog.

 

Drops cling to his brow, the air cramped and wet,

As the rider tries to sling this buck over his head.

His figure stooped and he fumbles for the rein,

Barely visible through the heavy fog.

 

The rider gallops on headed for home,

Wife waiting at the doorway, she calls him.

Down the dusty track, the rider comes forth,

Barely visible through the heavy fog.

 

Mud caked on his mount’s legs,

Sodden leather sits on his head.

Stag slung over his horse’s unkempt rump,

Barely visible in the heavy fog.

 

Photo Credit: Found on Pinterest.
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