Treasure Island

Dick Davis


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Baucis and Philemon

Life lies to hand in hoe, spade, pruning-knife,
Plain wooden furniture and wattle walls,
In those unspoken words ‘my husband’, ‘wife’,
In one another’s flesh which still recalls

Beneath the map of age their savoured youth.
It is an ambience in which they move
Having no need to grasp or grub for truth;
It is the still persistence of their love.

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