Greengate Cotton
- Richard Mather
- Apr 12, 2020
- 1 min read
By Richard Carl Mather
Fog swirls, curls
around vans, cars,
slips ghostlike
through bare branches.
A neighbour coughs
into a handkerchief
made (he says)
from Greengate cotton.
“Yesterday, before the snow,
three old horses
munched wet grass
as I walked through the relics
of the Wet Earth Colliery,
which on reflection,
were beautiful objects
of time and rust.”
