By Dominic Ward
Furlong watershed, lands of Easter rising.
Common decay is a sought after fall-out
By-products of an unkempt mind
That has as its subject the worst kind of twist
Sleep hidden by sleep
Lost moistures worked for a time
When all is still can all be created
With creation comes the heaviest weight
Working and twisting and yearning and out-going
It matters so cauldron to have all right
Neat is the mark done right
Sharp as suicide is the night taken coldly
Sleep is the makershead of fine work
Work that is born of spirit and strength
To wield that spirit is a ceaseless condition
No love and care can deliver you from.
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