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Poetry

Sunday Footpath 

By Esme Bell


How like ants we must feel

to these green hands, 

chapped and valleyed

in their kite-doting age.

Four paws and two boots 

make six, but not enough 

still to read, properly, your

grassy life line. Enough maybe

to walk home and dream 

of an endless sky smile mirrored

in the earth, with sheep for teeth.

Enough to write a poem.

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