Because you’re mine, I walk the line
Dec 16, 2020
3 minutes
Illustration by Philip Bannister
The little mouse comes out and nibbles The small weed in the ground of stubbles Where thou lark sat and slept from troubles Amid the storm The stubbles ic’el began to dribble In sunshine warm Address to a Lark Singing in Winter by John Clare
FIRST light. Below, down in the village, a cockerel crows. Far away over the stubble of millet, a tawny owl yaps in the black wood. Otherwise, a world of silence.
The stars are still alight, alchemising the
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