Lakeland walls

The grey, stone walls,
Neat and well-packed,
Coldly insulate
The lazy, browsing flocks.

Where the walls break down,
Hawthorns grow;
Twisted, knotted, gnarled,
Frowning against the seasonal cutters,
Red berries defiant.

At their feet they open their toes,
Free passage for the small creatures,
The wild ones.