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Ten hot Dorset miles

is to come far

for beauty

through treadless roseate lanes

of willow herb

across soft beating hills

of wild carrot

blue and marbled in white


slicked youth

is fifty years gone

and resolved

to compendia

of aches and brakes

but no matter

we count swallows

and glow worms

and glory in clouds

across the white eye

of the moon’s pale gaze

upon the Portland sea



the Pulpit.



Published inPoetry

One Comment

  1. Peter O'Neil Peter O'Neil

    I’d forgotten your way with words until Kate described our latest oik as ‘A flaw on two legs’. Missing you and your colourful descriptions. Walking to School is brilliant.

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