Over the Fence - 16.07.2025

A sun-burnt meadow on the town's edge
Glimmering like gold, bordered by a hedge
Where the breeze from afar still does blow
Caressing flowers that no longer grow
Where the lone pylon goes on humming
Quietly, but with strength, as if drumming
And on the power lines - three magpies
Sit next to each other, watching the skies
Exhausted by the Sun's fiery glare
They rest, waiting for a gust of cool air
Below them, a weary walker walks
Wearing old worn-out jeans and dirty docs
With a cheap lager beer in his hand
He stops, looks around, surveying the land,
And carries on, eager to clear out
Before, already bothered by the drought,
The manor's lord comes shouting and hassling -
Such are the joys of trespassing