Poems of Brian Johnston
Farm: A Walk Near Blunt
It seems a shame that you're not here
To share my evening stroll with me,
As I walk down this gravel road
That takes off just outside of town.
Two pheasants flush from bar ditch pools
(The grassy soup of last night's rain)
Just as I cross the railroad tracks
And seem to pass some phantom line
That separates my world from theirs.