Beacons (a pre-Advent poem)

It is flood season now.

The sky muffled and drab

The road river runs between

muddy hawthorn tightly clipped

to white-tipped severity.

The bend brings them into view:

Curled copper turnings

dressing the dark boughs

Like fantastic candelabra

Here and there their glowing splendour

Has corroded into dusky green.

And I must turn aside to see

this wonder

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