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I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.
Camping in April (in brief)
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- Category: Poems
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Dandelion Wishes
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blank stare
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contorted faces
pale composure
eyeing voices
rapid heartbeat
echoing reach
distant signals
vision painted
blurry memories
pale composure
eyeing voices
rapid heartbeat
echoing reach
distant signals
vision painted
blurry memories
My Grandmother's Hands
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Mr Holloway sir, May I have the hand of your daughter in marriage?
They were sturdy hand that already plied the needle through delicate embroideries.
Father was a saddler and the intended a young blade hopeful of farming.
It was in the blood so my Grandmother became a farmer's wife.
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