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Black Poplar
two flightless birds on a branch
a wood-saw working in my hand
you trying to stop me sawing
hoping to keep us on dry land
below us runs a deep rushing river
if the branch is severed, we drown
I shrug off your efforts to stop me
Though it will bring both of us down
the branch is nearly sundered
I can hear it creak and groan
your hysteria makes me angry
I w...
Thursday 3rd September 2020 10:31 am
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