|
GRWYNE
FAWR RESERVOIR
until
I reach the sponge heather top
of
the tarren I do not know what is not what I am
because
my older knees shake and my fatty heart quakes
and
I think of these welsh cyms as cunts these vales around
haired
with green wet with trees hot with bracken
...
(For full text see
the Kindle ebook The
Nature of Things (Collected Poems) by Alan Marshfield)
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of page |
