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Water Music

Robert James Berry

In the eely entrails of this kingdom
There's always water.

Riddling through marshes
Into reedy culverts,
Gravelly-tongued, iron-brown.

Where the fens grow like a dark-age curse
Water becomes river,
Loud like the wild swans over these great Broads.

Then water widens into estuary, a slow silty Mother

And there is the Sea, vast beyond Gods.

 


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