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Its so annoying to capture a great photo shot,
Winning competitions and awards it fills a top spot,
But no matter how hard I stare and try to be inspired,
Words fail to fill my head; my poetic thoughts have expired.
Unable to gain insight into the great natural reflections,
Still autumn waters refuse to conjure up literary connections.
Three arches rounded off like tunnels burrowing into the earth,
Brown and golden leaves fall sadly, trees awaiting spring’s rebirth.
Visions of past locals crossing these arches; farmers droving their cattle,
Soldiers, newly recruited, marching to defend their nation’s honour in battle,
Young lovers rendezvous secretly, savour their passionate tryst,
All of these characters my writer’s block forces me to miss.
Trout swim below observing their unique fish eye view,
Otters construct their holts and coypu prosper too,
So I study this photo, my attention on it’s poured,
Hang on a moment!
All my poetry above means my writer’s block is now cured.
— Philip Wood |