 |
| Taken on a visit to The Weaver of Grass and The Farmer last weekend. |
A Man of Few Words
No smile
or word of greeting;
just a raised forefinger
on the steering wheel.
No word of praise
or complaint;
just tacit acceptance.
No eulogies,
no promise of undying love;
just the cuckoo flower,
the hazel nuts,
the subtle tail feather of the grey partridge,
brought in the afternoon
and given with few words,
but saying more
than any gaudy bunch of roses.
THE WEAVER OF GRASS
