Story Hook

Every story needs a hook
to draw the reader's eye.
What stories could this dry stone wall
tell those who wander by?

Its hook is shoulder-level.
But what's its purpose there?
I picture a dark-cloaked parson,
who leaves his horse, secure.

Perhaps he strokes the old mare's nose
before he goes to preach?
Or maybe it's The Squire's hook
that rusts beyond his reach?

The stones are old with stories
that no-one stops to hear.
The hook hangs heavy with history,
although no horse comes near.

The lichen spreads out boldly,
and pennywort holds its own,
but birds perch only briefly
on this wall of Devon stone.

poem © Celia Warren 2012