The Labyrinth

THE LABYRINTH

On the far side of Hope
ears pop;
my head spins.

Queuing for water
from the town well,
winds from up the dale
blow in one ear,
exit less coolly.

At the top of Long Hill
we rest;
views of the valley
are but a misty panorama.

I feed on a bacon butty,
drink hot black unsweetened tea.

The journey home
will be fraught with uncertainty;
not all traffic lights
turn green on approach.

© Gerald England

Composed: Gee Cross, 23rd November 2001

Publication

2004 Aesthetica (UK)