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Over 40 years
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Michael Haslam, from A Cure for Woodness

from A Bunch of Tales

In quiet hills nigh lilac light.
Like milky bottle-brushes of the bistort dock.
And how the dandelion lost her clock.
And when the sorrel found no will to fight
a rain of peace fell from the stars so hard
I took to shelter like a rabbit
in one of the delfstone tenements, just another
snout pointing out until it stops.
The shower shocked.