Under A Passing Sky
Poetry is a hybrid friend. It can be inordinately hard to write and it is very personal. To publish is akin to deep betrayal. Most of these poems were partly composed on country walks, a line or two comes instantly to mind and from nowhere. They need to be written down there and then or else they return to those same nether regions. Completing the stanza, however, can take weeks, even months and, alas, in some instances, never!
Part I is a tender celebration of England’s rural idyll
Part II is a reflection on the condition and experience of being human.
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