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Post by johan on Jan 25, 2011 13:15:52 GMT -5
Abbotsbury SwanneryAcross Lyme Bay through the Chesil shingle the Abbotsbury Swannery the home of the swan Mute swans, some the colour of night when they leave the water, Concord taking flight They circle like a flight of hurricanes landing with undercarriage swept in front white couples and black couples in perfect tune with necks extended they go to hunt Those that are mute seem to sign in motion others cackle like old mother hens the cygnets trailing them in perfect tune wild life abundant down to tiny fat wrens They sweep the dunes like flying camels but stately in motion, bodys like Cunard ships this their home, safe from man only thing fired at them are camera clips.
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Post by rrw on Jan 25, 2011 14:11:10 GMT -5
Dazzling! Such majesty to this poem and I love the ending: safe from man only thing fired at them are camera clips. Very nice.
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Post by purplespirit on Jan 25, 2011 17:14:37 GMT -5
Like a film I can just see it all Andrew, but better than any film is the wonderful description by your fantastic poem. What treasures to find on this site, granted by masters of poetry. Thank you! Ursula xx
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Post by sunny on Jan 27, 2011 9:03:42 GMT -5
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Post by b4sunset on Jan 27, 2011 12:15:43 GMT -5
picturesque, andrew! no need for camera clips as your phrases as the colorful lenses brought to life... incredibly lovely!
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Post by backstreetdreamer on Jan 27, 2011 12:46:50 GMT -5
A beautifully naturalistic write my good friend, the kind I have came to expect from your quill...Keith.
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