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Array
(
[sid] => 160212
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => A Sunday Walk With The Dogs.
[time] => 2010-05-29 06:51:02
[hometext] => Well this is a description of a sunday walk with the dogs in the mountains close to my home.
[bodytext] => The sunday silent fields are baking Hard in the kiln of early summer sun And the petite Willow Warbler is hanging lazily in the heat, While from faraway a peel of sunday bells Echo across the steaming mountains. I open the gate and enter freedom, the dogs eager to roam. From a copse half a mile away a cuckoo calls And from the forestry planation, with a pistol like rat a tat, rat a tat, The woodpecker recites the verse of the woods. The boxer dog scrambles, his stump wagging his tiger stripes, Through brambles at the edge of the clearing, and in the upper branches, Watching carefully, a squeral washes his paws, then in a flash Is lost to the high branches, leaf and twig. The huge mastiff is feeling the heat now, his usual proud posture is slumping slighty Like a mid day flower in search of shade and cool water. The dogs stop for a moment testing the air with monkey faces Screwed tight against the heat, then a black bird calls to her mate And her silly grin illuminates her shadey hedgerow kingdom. Onwards and upwards along the track that leads to the lake, A vast glacial sump of mountain water, clear and cool and welcome. The dogs plunge in watched by the vast peaks and the lonely outposts of my mind. Above, a Red Kite circles, and a group of crows perform sumersults, The sultry air between the lake and mountains, A perfect stage on which to perform. I lay back on the grassy bank and watch the dogs, Two clowns in a circus of total freedom, A freedom I claim as my own. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 128 [topic] => 27 [informant] => cashfan1 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 4 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 0 [associated] => [topicname] => NaturePoetry )
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