Saturday in Scorpio

Leaning on the gate here see,
See the field is greening
With promise of winter barley

The silent interlude
When leaves are lost
The early grain grows

Across bare trees
The pheasant funnels
Towards the guns

The moorcock
Heather hidden
Clatters up the sky.

And tonight
A flight of geese
Across a hunter's moon,
In Scorpio.

JL Nov 17 2011