Poetry Blogs (2019, hedgerows)
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Over the Hills and Far Away
One man went to mow his meadow
But when he got there he found
A machine had been and cut it clean
So instead of scything he sat down
And sighed for rabbit pie
Made from conies caught in the hedgerows
Hedgerows as old as the old ways
Which wend over hills and dales
Where little boy blue asleep in the hay
Was dreaming of metal monsters
That ate up little boys ...
Saturday 29th June 2019 2:20 pm
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