String bags and ...(edit)

[billy]

the capped letters give me no clue, though it could be me, sometimes they do make me faulter and wonder why they are so capped.

i still get corn or wheat fields being cut etc.

1st Edit

String bags and plastic wrap.

Slipping smooth green shafts past worm casts,
a long term ley is set aside for a meadow hay.
Sun drawn and softly soaked, the root reaches of mice
and armoured ants are defined amongst the forested trunks
of cellular ranks. Swaying and eased by a seasoned breeze.

A badgered trail winds its way - a ripple in my sward.
A kiss of early summer mist, lingers with dew-dropped bliss.

Daisy ox, eyes me,
as I scythe my way through her outer ranks,
I am Roughly bit by the hawk, Commonly bent
yet Self healed by a Burnt salad.
The Cocksfoot crests the Dogstail and Small
Timothy beds his Lady’s straw, mindless
of Sheepish fescues festering under the Golden oats.
A pastoral symphony in perfect harmony,
a flowery flotilla of sensory notes.

Moving
from my hedged in shade I pass Plantained
Tufted hair, under-sown with lush leafed Clover. Yarrow leaves,
pleased to off-load the bumbled plunder of overflowing Butter cups,
pass on the kiss with downy, toe teasing tears;
a joyous rolling Gloria that glides with Sweet Vetched delight,
over Creeping red lipped carpets, a remarkable Lark, Swallowed
shortly before the final lift of the Swiftly following major fall.

Back and re-booted I mount my metalled beast.
Suitably geared, I to start edit each and every green celled note.

Guiding smooth steeled shafts through the sublime;
line by line, the opening chorus lifts before the final fall.
The sun reclaims her kiss. Redacted dew-dropped bliss
is withdrawn, softly sucked by solar soaked winds,
which pluck the laid out lines – now crushed and silent.
Tossed from side to side, each fragrant note
blanches under a final morning misted kiss.

The winter shadows fall and I pause as I close the barn door;
within, the contented munching begins and rising on the sweet
breath breeze, aroma notes are drawn from string bags and plastic wrap
and once again begin to sing… and I long for barefoot summer days.



Original post.

I fear this one is sadly lacking in depth and still needs a lot of work, but was just wanting to write something... so here goes!

String bags and plastic wrap.

Slipping smooth green shafts past worm casts,
a long term ley is set aside for a meadow hay.
Sun drawn and softly soaked, the root reaches of mice
and armoured ants are defined amongst the forested trunks
of cellular ranks. Swaying and eased by a seasoned breeze.

A badgered trail winds its way - a ripple in my sward.
A kiss of early summer mist, lingers with dew-dropped bliss.

Daisy ox, eyes me,
as I scythe my way through her outer ranks,
I am roughly bit by the hawk, Commonly bent
yet Self healed by a burnt salad.
The Cocksfoot crests the Dogstail and small
Timothy beds his Lady’s straw, mindless
of Sheepish fescues festering under the Golden oats.
A pastoral symphony in perfect harmony,
a flowery flotilla of aroma notes.

Moving
from my hedged in shade I pass Plantained
Tufted hair, under-sown with Clover. Yarrow leaves,
pleased to off-load the bumbled plunder of overflowing Butter cups,
pass on the kiss with downy, toe teasing tears;
a joyous rolling Gloria that glides with Sweet Vetched delight,
over Creeping red lipped carpets, a remarkable Lark, Swallowed
shortly before the final lift of the Swiftly following major fall.

Back and re-booted I mount my metalled beast.
Suitably geared, I to start edit each and every green celled note.

Slipping smooth steeled shafts through the sublime;
line by line, the opening chorus lifts before the final fall.
The sun reclaims her kiss. Redacted dew-dropped bliss
is withdrawn, softly sucked by solar soaked winds,
that pluck the laid out lines – now crushed and silent.
Tossed from side to side, each fragrant note
blanches under a final morning misted kiss.

The winter shadows fall and I pause as I close the barn door;
within, the contented munching begins and rising on the sweet
breath breeze, aroma notes are drawn from string bags and plastic wrap
and once again begin to sing… and I long for barefoot summer days.