In the early mist of a winter’s dawn

beaded dew hangs, undecided,

cattle with laden udders

puff balloons of warm air,

huddle in the cosy comfort

of each other,

agitated, aching, cud chewing.

The farmer, dutifully awake,

strides across the field,

stout stick in hand,

marching, waking cadence,


a blinding flash,

silent stillness, pausing,

a rush, then all

that’s living’s dead

and I awake, distraught.

14 thoughts on “Unsuspecting

    • I agree. A US congressional committee convened recently to discuss the protocol of a nuclear attack and response. That poem was half written three weeks ago and I didn’t want to finish it. Because I knew how it would end.

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