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Poetry

Then he saw the wooded hill

Then he saw the wooded hill

With water lighting through.

It was pretty, didn’t need a path.

He mattered less.

And it was falling slowly

More slowly and then less.

It seemed like time had stopped

And yet was catching him.

They had him held and gripped

He winked at them.

“Turn me into snail shells

Turn me into sea

 Throw me at the anything

That you think that I should be.”

Stuart Knowles

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