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Jan 11
Realm of new gold, and blue-hot raging sun.
Yellow kept kingdom of the spilling fields.
Blind under burning filaments that run
like blood from the bursting heads of corn.
As sultry woods dapple with bluebell peals
and all the summer fruits of swallows song,
are shaded by kestrels, glaring overhead
and jealous ponds are broken by the stares;
of swollen mayflies, peering from the dead.
Written by
Thomas Wood  29/M/London
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