Le P

Le P stands foursquare,
and keeps a steady eye
on sunflower, vineyard and the bristling corn
that lap its humble foundation blocks.
On the departure of Orion
and the scream of midnight’s owls,
before the hullabaloo seduction of dawn’s doves
the chiselled stone changes,
and so, infused with the flush of morning,
lizards stir to adorn the aged stones
like dun tattoos.

Would Le P had castors
it may seamlessly rotate to follow the progress of the day,
beckoning deer and the fickle oh so wary hare
to prance and lope amongst the stubble tracks,
enticing bees from their idyll in the copse,
and scorning the raucous discord between crow and buzzard,
proud cornerstones drawn up to corset
this most humble of bastides.



© GrahamSherwood8/2014