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On fenlands of Lincolnshire – alone
Flapping against an aggression from the west
Borrowed clothes ripping as bellowed sails
Flecks of straw rising skywards in dust
A rigid form with fluid movement
Waving and bending and howling
Or is that the squalls of frightened seasons
On flatlands
On tilled earth
Beside the worm worn rook hops
Berates the form of tangled frightening
Folded scorn, in our clothes
Beyond lays a flattened horizon
A sun sets in solemn time
Lowers with the
Arms of the slanted soul who
Becomes shade and silhouette
Appears in a long view set against
A fading light
And whistles pitched high
Cut through this image of mankind.
Stephen Holloway.
 Nottingham poet

About poetreecreations

I am an author writer publisher web administrator I run poetry workshops in the community. My published Manners childrens poetry book can be found at

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