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I am a great admirer of English poetry from the time of Chaucer up until the middle of the twentieth century when it appeared to lose its way. I love all aspects of this planet but are sometimes sad when I think of what we are doing to it.

Thursday 30 April 2020


Bright her face upon that day and
light the touch of silken hair, like
mist in May, when first we met and
kissed in flowered fields and swore that
we would snare the sun and keep him tame.

See how dark and dry these days drag
out. We sit and sneer at our Love’s
rout with hate that gnaws in guile and
lies. Ah, ash in veins and dust in
eyes – all embers now where once was flame.

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