Poem -
Porlock
not too far from me regardless of whether by road or as the crow flies ..
Its where they drag boats
over hills,
across fields and catch
oysters ..
It’s where when it’s still,
no sound
can be heard except for
the larks
in the sky, the buzzing of
bumble bees
and more often than not,
either fair or
foul wind in old cotton sails ..
Â
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