Bilbo In The Breeze

This is another standalone poem from my linked series, a work in progress, poems written around the theme of the weather.

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Please don’t ask me when the whole thing might be completed!

Bilbo in the Breeze

 

Tonight, there is no moon,

But I hear dry leaves,

Swirling and clattering on the path.

Fingers brushing my cheek,

Cold breath on my face.

 

Leaves, dry leaves,

Flung into the air and a voice,

A spiteful, hissing voice,

Whispering in my ear:

‘What has it got in its pocketses?’

 

There are nasty, cold fingers

Poking and prying around my pocket.

I feel a tug at my jacket,

A sudden push in my back.

 

I jam my hands in my pockets

To warm them and keep the nasty fingers out.

 

My fingers touch…

Something dry…

It crackles…

What have I got in my pocket?

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34 thoughts on “Bilbo In The Breeze

  1. Could it be an empty maltesers packet in your pocket or an old bus ticket for the Park’n Ride into Norwich? Nice poem though, liked the cold pokey references. By the way Mick, when might the whole thing ……… never mind.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Tis only my b’leaf in that icy trickster, more pervasive even than politicians, that leads me to believe something has been reaching into your pocketses unannounced, leafing a little surprise and taking a secret something beginning with s.

    Liked by 1 person

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