THE WELL AND THE FOLLOWING

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Dreary nature, depressed thought, a long-ago poem to remember and forget (part of "Poems People Liked (2)"

It is a rotten morning. The

core of hazels in the damp wood, wet

and drowned, lose identity and turn to gutless shapes. Cloyed

the muddy clay traps the dampness in its dips

and depressions, clings to the shoes and

slows the pittance of steps towards the caked

tree where the mud mutters below the uneven branch, the

bark is crusted over, and the one bird calls out once

too often, level with the woodman’s pile. Turning

aside the dropped stone splashes in the well and then he follows.

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