A Morning Walk
By Mary Walker
This morning I
walked in the rain, bleary eyed
startled a feeding hawk
tore the palm of my hand
while picking a blackberry breakfast
(six ripe, one tart and underdone)
then came upon cattle in my favourite field
and moodily turned for home
composing a poem
keeping its beat
to the fall of my feet,
lines of late summer
with its dew and dry grass
bringing me home
soaked and happy.
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