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Transit to a poet.

Summer morning, Nineteen Seventy,

Field Study, Miss Skipworth's junior third,

Unimpressive rural location

But silently, we listened, absorbed.

Shocked, this unpretentious ditch was Roman dug.

We had little knowledge and even less inkling.

Along which empire goods, transported

From the Nene Valley north to Lincoln.

Engineered during the Hadrian reign,

Fen waterway and mighty frontier wall,

Although this ancient dyke is now silted.

Since horse and cart transported goods long haul.

Lush verdant thickets crowd out Volturnus.

Fortress-like banks of golden reed and rush,

Fish struggle to swim in these lowered waters,

Whilst birds perch eagerly by thickened bush,

Class dismissed, now write poetic verse,

Provide others with your sense of sight,

Today's or yesteryear's landscape, your choice

Create your images and let words take flight.

I wrote about avian aerobats,

Myriad insects moved en masse.

Small mammals wending wearisome ways,

Through flowered pastures, willowy grass.

Writing of the cerulean sky,

With darkening clouds, way, way yonder,

A hushed breeze waves herbaceous rushes,

Captivating, heightening wonder.

Pen in hand, I wrote of white-haired hawthorn,

The abundant green pedunculate oak,

Strolling through meadows, our childish hands entwined.

Your name, secret to my heart, left unspoke.

Our immature love during that long, hot summer

Became the reason the world wore a smile

Writing verse became my raison d'être

Soft tender words to becharm and beguile

That long hot summer couldn't last forever

We moved off at a tangent and differing pace

I soon learnt the sad art of grieving rhyme

Writing sad songs behind a saddened face

Fifty years of literary leaning

against an enduring desire to write,

Themes of romance, torment, heartbreak, and joy

Transits my soul from my darkness to light

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