Mist this morning

Morning mist hovers, silent this morning

Over the meandering course

Of a tributary born of the Adur

Attesting to Nature’s quiet force

Winter’s sad foliage hangs limply

The green a dull grey now it seems

The halcyon days of the summer

Now just a thing of its dreams

And through this picture of quiet abandon

I travel immune to the cold

Cocooned in the warmth of this carriage

I am bound to do as I’m told

Yet a part of me yearns to be out there

Treading the loam of the field

Shoreham’s rural vestiges clinging

To the southern arm of the Weald

There is fortitude there in the making

Something to seize and embrace

A treasure that beckons and calls me

Unique, it would seem, to this place.

©Jemverse

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