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Grey silhouette of screeching gull
soars startled into flight;
First glitter on a foreign shore,
Behold the coming night.
Old fisherman alone, cocooned,
baring weathered flesh;
Rests his line on steady frame,
Sits picking at his net.
The distant hills grow dim, then dark,
Lie silently to rest;
Their form against the setting sun
a man’s recumbent b...
Sunday 8th October 2017 7:27 pm
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