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Poem No. 55

  • blacknessonseapoet
  • May 12, 2022
  • 1 min read

Untitled.

A cold wind stalks the Forth

The industries of war stir

Constructed and armed along the banks

Anchored in Place, but not in time

So descends a blackness on the sea

The glimmer of hope, a lobster pot on the shore

 
 
 

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