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how human our limits

that stonewall the old

when back-lit in turquoise

sage-pink and gold

we step fast from old steps

reject habitations

rooted in ivy and lichen and mould

to stretch long through wheat fields

and sing clear to blue peaks

as windmills sift slowly

the breeze that our throats seek

while temperatures rising

drench soft cloth and salt skin

as rugged the weary

pass mountain and memory

to pause at The Cross.

 

 

 

 

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