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A Pool of Dark in his Hands

Updated: 7 days ago

The shadows that he’d seen


didn’t darken the years


that he helped with our wellies,


lifted us up over dykes and stiles


and carried doll's prams and bikes


when we got tired.



It was light from the stars that led him


along frost-bitten country lanes


towards the docks and factories


where he worked


to keep the wolf from the door


and dinner in the pot.



But there were shadows.


We knew that.



We learnt of chains and blackened streets,


a pointing board outlined in red


and shuddered as our chanting


brought the Bright Toothed Beelers


from the woods.



To snap that book tight shut


and live in light


took:


the grace of a poet’s pen,


real ale,


red wine


and a lifetime of true love.



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