Ice Age - Poem by Richard George
A thousand steps above the valley
April is winter:
But Offa's gale harangues me on,
Leaves of snow gather,
Shroud tracks with silence.
Retreating from safety,
I pad like Scott or Shackleton
And look back; lost.
In fog's winding-sheet, I stagger
But something guides me down along
Its blind man's stick; a hedgerow.
Here, the land remembers
Glaciers, dog-tooth rocks
Brambling birds busy me home
To Anno Domini.
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