“Rivers are the ribs of the land,” the
Sounding-wise stranger said, eyes twinkling,
“When you buy a field
You’re buying the water:
That it has to offer –
For beasts, for crops –
Or such as it will need.”
Three whole hours
We sat at the bar
While the four-week storm cold
Threw itself at our windows, walls and lives.
Weaving home – the worst for cider –
I marvelled at the fact
That he hadn’t paid for a round.
26/4/2013
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