FOG IN THE MORNING
More fog.
In the paddock,
Sheep, like ghosts,
Drifting up and down
The grass.
This could be yesterday
When we were all young
Together.
The early bus pulling up
At the Pit.
The sound of boots
On the half-hidden
Pavement,
In time for the early shift.
The rest of us asleep
Until the fog clears.
The sheep
Shaking it off their backs.
The lights of the Pit
Floating it
Clean away.
© 2020 Gwen Grant
Poems by Gwen Grant 
Wonderful! Sense a bit of nostalgia in there.
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You certainly did! However, im my defence, the sheep ARE in the paddock and there was a fog!
Glad you like it, anyway.
Gwen.
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Follow my page please 😌. About- poems and short stories.
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That’s an extraordinary poem of nostalgia and memory. It evokes a whole other time…brilliantly.
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Thank you! Pits and miners used to be such a big part of this area. All gone now, of course, but their memory is as
bright to me as ever. So glad you liked the poem.
Gwen.
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