Before the Clouds


Scattered sunbeams pierce through

clouds of grey, the clothes wave

a friendly hello on the line to

passers-by as sheep graze gently

in verdant fields.

The sea hangs on the horizon

and I remember a time when it called

to me, before the clouds,

before the cities began to

encroach on the trees, before

the world became concrete.

The air feels lighter in the

bright afternoon, perhaps hope

hangs in that sky too. Leave

the brutalist bastions and

return to what was once a dream.


We welcome a new poet to Country Squire Magazine. Liz Gale is a retired postmistress now residing in a village just outside Scarborough in North Yorkshire. 


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