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New Poetry by Emily Brigstocke




Shall we sit a while in the grass?


Shall we?

Shall we sit in a moss laden field, where the dew on the blades wets the fabric of our clothes?

And just think for a while?

Shall we settle on the lawn in a sun speckled spot and pretend that we’re sorting our futures?

Shall we lie in between the wall of the garden and the riverbed, not to get wet and not to get caught, and just talk for a while, my friend?

Can’t we?

Just rest in a field of wildflowers, not of conventional colours and admire our forever youths.

Shall I walk while holding you up to bask in the sun on an autumn day?

Just breathe in the winter air on a sunny slope of roses and reeds.

And feel our feet become numb in the cold grass

And watch our hands sink into the soil

And watch as the roses wrap around each ankle

And we are here,

Sitting,

In the grass,

For a while.

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