Snagged on hedgerows like captive ghosts,
Awaiting release from their twiglet hosts.
Entrapped by fingers, crooked & cross,
Shredded & stretched like delicate floss.
Injured spectres; wretched, in pain,
Clutching & writhing with scorn & disdain.
Ghoulish spirits; shattered & lost,
Relentlessly clinging, whatever the cost.
Wearisome struggling, just to break free,
Though nobody cares & nobody sees.
Cast into purgatory, weathered & thin,
Remorseless with anger, brimming with sin.
Hoping for freedom via blustery blasts,
But nothing’s sustained & nothing else lasts.
The only salvation; winged, feathered beasts,
Wrenching fraught fibres from glaring defeats.
6th March 2019
Sheep’s wool can be found caught on most fences & hedgerows, lining farmland, locally. However, when the lorry came to collect the shorn fleeces, last year, large clumps of fleece snagged on the hedgerow, in one narrow lane, where I walk regularly. Much of it is still there, despite very strong winds, at times. However, some has disappeared, since the birds started nesting. They remind me of captive ghosts, every time I pass by…though not quite as ghoulish as I’ve portrayed them! 😂