Around the village green, May blossom turns hedges
into rich swags of cream, cow parsley frothing at the edges.
As I walk (or trudge) alone, birds and daisies cheer me on,
panting through the second lap, by the village hall, past
empty goalposts, along sidelines vanishing in rampant grass.
When someone asks how I keep fit during the corona season,
I say I walk about a mile around a football pitch, but mean
it’s more like twice or even thrice around the village green.
Kim M. Russell, 13th May 2020
Rommy tells us that this week she was put into a position where she needed to tell a little white lie. For this Weekly Scribblings, she’d like us to focus our words around lies or the idea of a lie, whether they’re little ones or great big whoppers.
This poem is kind of tongue in cheek as I have managed four or five laps, albeit before I got shingles, and I’m building up to five or six again now.