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The Marsh
1
The Marsh by Cheryl Sandberg The clouds are placed in such a way that seems to cast some heightened logic on the foray of the flats and clay, picking out the green from beige. The moist brown ink and tainted gold, is straw becoming copper, weaving slanting yellows, burnished and bold, turning their flower heads skyward. A wood plank cabin, drifting on this sea, warden of thistles, sailing grassy waves, brings forth from within a twisted old tree, pushing up from the shadows beneath. Over to the east a strip of melting blue calls the pillions to a duel, pulling cables drawing lines, thrice bisecting the view, resisting the urge to whip free. The grasses beckon, giddy, for beyond the factory’s spires are morbidly cold, their flavour is on the wind and its bonded the smell of nature and industry.
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The Marsh
Transcript of The Marsh
The Marsh
by Cheryl Sandberg
The clouds are placed in such a waythat seems to cast some heightened logic
on the foray of the flats and clay,picking out the green from beige.
The moist brown ink and tainted gold,is straw becoming copper, weaving
slanting yellows, burnished and bold,turning their flower heads skyward.
A wood plank cabin, drifting on this sea,warden of thistles, sailing grassy waves,
brings forth from within a twisted old tree,pushing up from the shadows beneath.
Over to the east a strip of melting bluecalls the pillions to a duel, pulling cablesdrawing lines, thrice bisecting the view,
resisting the urge to whip free.
The grasses beckon, giddy, for beyondthe factory’s spires are morbidly cold,
their flavour is on the wind and its bondedthe smell of nature and industry.
