On inundated soil, the ground held its green
in the lakes and depressions.
A stroll from the manager – solitary barman
in the tap rooms of melancholy,
wondering who on a surface of imperfections
was cutting ribbons, opening bluebell buildings
in remote pockets of woodland,
hoping and regretting wayside desolation
lined the verges of memory
(though the ground held for all its shifting) –
ended in an ancient stone bench
in the ruins of an abandoned castle
with a view over the valley to the sea
with peace only found in layers of time
rather than hopes of future prospects:
the only prospect is in the trees.
Tag: anti-enlightenment
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Held Ground
Wilderspool Causeway 