Pip

Runaway strays from worried cuff frays.
Gnarled trees against a fog thick black night.
Scarf tight round his thin neck.
His legs rattled inside his trousers like twigs.
Gangly as Bambi he streaked through a moonlit strip.
Empty landscape stretched as far as a shipless sea.
Low rolling clouds curled over marsh and supturating boglands.

Face sweated with fear and running.
The mast of the convict ship clinking in another land felt terrifyingly closer to hand.
He was afraid, as afraid as Pip.
But his heart was bigger.
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