Uncle Tim


Tasmania
the mellifluous murmurs
from swaying verdant green branches
just shapeless figures in the wind
are only still
with solemnity
when mist settles over amorphous waters.

He wears a warm sweater
collar protruding from the neck.
It contrasts against the cold,
as does he with
the people of this world.

Reflected on squinting eyes,
early morning amber rays
sink into grey mountains,
peak over these nebulous horizons
onto a pebbled path,
old wooden walls make home,
encompassed by a stone wall.
ignore the power lines.

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