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  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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