Somewhere in our garden, there’s a circle in the grass.

The single individual blades seem to miss one patch of earth          walking arm in arm with her we listen to birds crackle from taller trees.

Somewhere in our garden, there’s a circle etched in the grass.

Sealed now, the circle sits where it always has sat. Maybe its me that’s changed. Loudly I hear children children slowly started learning twisting turning, inside out. Then we leave.

somewhere in a garden, there’s a circle in the grass.

still sat after skies have changed. It’s still sitting, broken twisted pillaged, raped and burned.

Changed forever, suspended in a green sea.

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Ollie Cannon-Jewell

Young lad writing out of North London for his own enjoyment. He hopes you enjoy his writing as much as he enjoys it himself. Enjoy.

Latest posts by Ollie Cannon-Jewell (see all)

• Somewhere in our garden - 14/10/15
• Red Pastures - 08/10/15
• Girl from Salem - 01/10/15
• Hermit - 25/09/15