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A singeing bleak... Eye water, colors from thistle gripped nothings Numb from a dissident space Absence is minded by pale phased etchings Embellishing braids of cinnamon briar, while flushing the tumbles of Old Man’s Beard. Mercury drops... a Starling backed brush to the blackening fields all riddled with meddling shoals Turned ermine surrenders a rumour Of solstice, remembers the Ploughmen The tread of the horses that folded the beds Of the cold, tired Earth, While, over, the Plovers wheel.
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Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 12:14 AM UTC
Old Ways
A singeing bleak... Eye water, colors from thistle gripped nothings Numb from a dissident space Absence is minded by pale phased etchings Embellishing braids of cinnamon briar, while flushing the tumbles of Old Man’s Beard. Mercury drops... a Starling backed brush to the blackening fields all riddled with meddling shoals Turned ermine surrenders a rumour Of solstice, remembers the Ploughmen The tread of the horses that folded the beds Of the cold, tired Earth, While, over, the Plovers wheel.
alistair-william-bullen
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Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 12:14 AM UTC
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