A 20.20 View of 1349
Autumn rain.
Winter rain.
April dry.
The sheep suffer
with the rot again.
May drier still.
Nothing
will be ploughed.
Crops fail, and
moss hangs bare
as lanky hair.
Our deep discontent.
The plague’s arrived.
for Twiglet #175: It Hangs Bare and PB Internal Rhyme ©️ Misky 2020 Image wikiCommons Fair Usage.
It's Still Life 
One response to “Twiglet #175”
That says it in scary simplicity.
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