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Based on the painting of the Fall of Icarus, possibly by Pieter Breugel the Elder


The grit and grind of plough through soil,

the sweat and thud of horse and hoof,

the shepherd’s boredom, looking up,

wondering if worrying

on the coming rain

would consume an empty hour.


The captain searches for the route to port,

a moving mirage, shifting

endlessly amongst the rocks,

crew straining sinew against the wind.

The day will be dying soon, home

and harbour, family, food and rest.


Like the day, a boy dies,

and a father weeps,

drowned for want of listening

for what do fathers know?

But in some hours the day’s reborn

and tomorrow’s life continues as today. 

Michael R Chapman
~ master of none ~
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