The form for last week’s challenge from Paul Brookes was the bob and wheel. It’s a Medieval French form, a sort of interruption in a long poem, that draws attention to itself by its short lines and particular rhyme scheme that contrasts with the style of the main body of the poem. Since the bob (two syllable first line) and wheel, (the four six-syllable lines that follow), doesn’t mean anything alone, I’ve preceded the bob with a verse of context.

Walker and stalker

Walking where the leaves drift deep and rust-red dry,
in silence broken only by the wild jay’s cry,
where dapples fall in golden coins on dusty earth,
and every breathing thing waits for the rain, rebirth
of sprout and shoot and crawling things, tight buds, the spring,
we wait, hoof raised, paw poised, birds balanced on the wing.

I hear
twigs crack and heavy tread
of boots…