Beneath
By Nina Spink
There’s a beauty in this landscape
Though the mist obscures its view
There’s an eerie sense of tranquility
known only to the precious few
And as you tread through sodden grass
to the gate at the distant end
tears seep into your shoes
through the holes you forgot to mend
If you scratch away the paintwork
from the lock upon the gate
you will see the rust spots poorly patched
Repairs done in much haste
Though there’s years of sad neglect
of resignation etched upon its plaque
tell-tale signs of reparation
reveal a heart that’s not all black
