This block
Runs south
To north
Latterly
Many feet
At twenty
Trod
Up and
In that way
Longing
For shadows
Longer
Mines own
Depressions
Tarn latterly
Raking, rocking
Unavoidably
Sun dug
Tore
In green fields
Awry
Whiling
The marchers
Lurch and go
Coughily
Pulled up
Full stopped
And tankless
Tracked
Warmer, colder
Hot, hot, hot!
Tom McGlynn
copyright 2014
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