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Hawk Wood Revisited (a love poem)

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Infrequent vagrant though I am,

to hear the great frosts peal out noisily beneath my heels,

to see the slim hares coast away,

the bronze soils sealed by ice and scattered liberally

with scentless droppings,

brings me to the wonder of it.

 

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I walk through winter’s paces:

bare fields, snapped stalks, rain-lines

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smouldering beneath occasional sun,

and beauties multiply.

Where strong dusks pressed the daylight down

we stood…perhaps apart…like compasses.

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What do you think?

7 points