This poem was inspired by a recent walk through a field of clocks, near to my home. The field, normally used for horses (not mine I hasten to add), has been set aside this year. It has turned into a wild-flower meadow, with the dandelions stealing the show.
Field of Clocks
Today I stood
in a field of clocks
and watched
their young fly free.
Catching the wind
in their filigree wings
they floated
away from me.
Seeking a spot
away from the flock
they waited
to drop their seeds.
Without a sound
they fell to the ground
and crawled
among the leaves.
Before too long
they’ll be tall and strong
and able
to fight the breeze.
Gilding their hats
they’ll have the last laugh
those crazy
lion-dandies.
Copyright 2019, Noa Summerlock.
