I thought I would write a poem a day for a week or so. Here is yesterday’s. Of course, if this goes like most of my projects, I’ll probably give up tomorrow. We’ll see.
Clutch
Crook-backed
Misshapen
Bent and jug-eared
Skeletal spindle-shanked and
Shaggy ancient
.
Like troll
The rising sun leaves it forever
Frozen on this hillside
.
Mid-clutch
.
Ice coursed through crippled limbs
Wedged and clinging
Four hundred years too much
In the end
Mick Canning 
I know that feeling, its called lockdown blues!
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Very similar, I grant you.
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Mick, that shaggy ancient has a very mystique appeal as does your poem.
miriam
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Thanks, Miriam.
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Picture and words go together perfectly.
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Thanks, Jan.
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Old, but still good. Bent and broken, but still useful. Rather like me!
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That is a very difficult comment to reply to, Jill! Certainly useful, certainly good!
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Awwww … it wasn’t meant to be difficult, merely humorous! But thanks, Mick!
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You’re welcome, Jill!
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