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All my summer flowers
Are hiding from the rain
A nest of vetch
Alight at the foot
Of my moorland oak
Somehow beautiful
Like a little song
In the night
I labour in thrall
To the dark west wind
All my thoughts
on struggle.
Notice the brightness
In the tinsel of a finch
And the weight is lifting
Swallows see the joy
And raise me
To the light.

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