The Gentle Hills

Enclosed, hidden, tucked away beside gentle hills
cosily covered by soft mist, held up by dim, orange lights.

A dog barks in the quiet and the street crumbles,
the walls sigh as plaster falls
and shabby shop fronts start to lie.

Sadder, and more serious,
the sky, at last, falls down,
and the gentle hills
give in.

Author: George McDermid

I scratch out poems, and the odd little tale. Mostly for my own amusement.

One thought on “The Gentle Hills”

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