Beinn Fhadda

Since spring her ermine stole has grown tatty
wearing thin over the shoulders.
Holes growing and merging,
and now it hangs in long ribbons down her back.
Still gleaming in wrinkles and creases,
the silk-white crust fractures, and slumps
into rushing cascades.

Kat Jones


If you have any comments on this poem, Kat Jones  would be pleased to hear from you.