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Grey rain teeming
Hunched in billows
Wild winds are
howling through the tower
Just a corner
Of a rainbows smile
Lighting the sky
By the misty mills.
Unusual little men
on the wild moor
Guns in their butts
Flat caps and cigarettes
Gun-dogs and red flags
Barbours and gumboots
Land-Rovered up
to the hilt of their tweed
I pity the grouse,
Chuckling away
Low down in the heather
And hope that the beaters
Are beat by the weather.

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