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Poetry Magnum Opus

A Rambler Slips Into The Preternatural

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Tick-tock across the rock, a granite clock,
hear the logan stone crack, a watery tongue
seeking a lock, that breath coming low
unlocking bone beneath the frosted stone.

What scurrying law, what dimming glow
- coming slow and slowly feeding -
daring that whisper, worming these walls,
over the moor, what voice beneath the tor?

After the fall a gathering of claw, runes
crawling within the gneiss, a leafy shawl
across the icy floor, over his eyes
and all to find and bind in wrinkled prayer.

Not at all, not at all? the rambler spoke,
pressed the lodestone until it cut his hand.

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It's unmistakably "Badger."


True Tony!Though I'm more aware these days I break many 'rules' :laugh: It's the fun of writing anyway...or I'm just lazy :rolleyes:


all the best



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