June 10, 2020

At first I do not recognise the sound
As I cycle the empty lane through fields,
And my eyes are reaching out, all around,
To the greens and bright yellows of the Wolds
Perhaps, I think, it is the seashell breeze
Of woolly hat pulled low over my ears,
No. It’s a happy,...

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© 2018 James Morgan Nash - Writer and Poet - Leeds, West Yorkshire, United Kingdom - james@jamesnash.co.uk 

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