I should not know
that the grass that grows
on the other side of the barbed wire fence
really is more green.
I should not have been
to the top of the steepest field
before climbing down
on hands and heels.
And I should not have seen
the place, where in between
the rocks grow orchids, like a forest
of tiny, curling trees.
These are my trespasses.
Forgive me.
©2018 Lucy Peacock
This poem is from HILL: The story of one Derbyshire hill. Visit www.hillproject.uk for more details.
