The snow falls deep the Forest lies alone
The boy goes hasty for his load of brakes
Then thinks upon the fire and hurries back
The Gipsy knocks his hands & tucks them up
& seeks his squalid camp half hid in snow
Beneath the oak which breaks away the wind
& bushes close, with snow like hovel warm
Then thinks upon the fire and hurries back
The Gipsy knocks his hands & tucks them up
& seeks his squalid camp half hid in snow
Beneath the oak which breaks away the wind
& bushes close, with snow like hovel warm
Daily #JohnClare postings
#poetry #environment
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