Highfields

Merry as the day was long, I wandered, winderly,

As demure amber, skyward, encased the thread of day,

And I read the benches of the barely dead.

.

So planted I turned to the lake,

As, aimlessly, the moorhens mawked and paddled,

Away,

The slithers of the day,

Circling and encircling, nothing, a moment.

.

And showed a commitment to that aegis,

that I could not,

As I read the benches of the barely dead,

and thought.

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