Slow hot death

Foggy breath snorting down my chest

The smell of marshes in morning frost

Grass spines crunching underfoot

A swan mum gaggles in the tussock

​

I look across the brown-green plains

Feeling like an ancient leader

Assessing the lands of time

But dead now, dead for long

​

Maybe I am a future king of past

And a boy like me may dream

Of my great reign from then

A time that came so long before.

​

1 | 2