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One of the poems in progress inspired by meadow-time.

The carving of the land by man was desecration then
Now the M6 winds, a lazy snake twixt bare-backed hills
And drivers glance, perhaps,
At the green beyond the screen

Here, in the dale, there’s no thought of motorway
No place for cars, no road, no lights
The stillness in the centre of the night
Defies time’s passing
Ignores the city’s breath

I am still, in my mind, of childhood’s kind,
Toes in the river,
The glimpse of a bug stretching into hours
Green rub on my soles

grasses in the meadow, high borrowdale cumbria