Curlew Poem by David Devereux
Curlew
The plaintive cry of the curlew
is sadly, heard no more
on the bleak and windswept moor
I wandered as a child long ago.
But now, as I walk the heathered upland,
in my mind's ear I hear it calling,
like a ghostly spirit whistling
on the wind of sixty, lost forever years.
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8/28/2026 2:17:00 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
