1974
6.148
28.v.25
the land just
made
a fells throw and flower sprung
stream beside was just now ice
a lambswhite dotting green
grey of the beginning falls
how feeble a fence against the world’s grass
ponies they call horse here
this saying mine won’t wash
cloud of insects, soil to protect
everything washes away
soft edges or none at all
grass soft under
everything leads down
out of the endless wind to still
to turfed in feather day
you’ll bury yourself just here
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