Fleur Jones

Walking In Durham

One foot over another and the ground is grey
With the rain, swollen still, adrift in leaf mould,
Centuries have past and some kernelled skull
Must have harboured something like this weight
Heavy as a waiting exposure, the cold is so peaceful.
I don’t want the bluebells to just appear as if
From a magazine on the simplicities of country life,
My air is not choked with apple pies and wheat
And lying in fields dreaming was someone else’s dream.

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