They surround us in their millions.
They sustain our lives
With shelter,
With shade,
With timber,
With birdsong.
Relief in the landscape.
We can climb them too,
But rarely do.
The last time you climbed a tree ?
Never ?

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Now, think about this :
If Dylan had written these words  - 

‘Strangers in the night,     Ex – changing  -  glances,     Wondering in the night,     What were -  the chances …’ 

And there we have it.
Not a crooner’s honeyed…

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How to say, my man, goodbye to you,

And tell you why I need to leave for some new found land,

After all your kindness, it is true,


I was born and bred a troubled soul,

My Daddy was a rebel, exiled to this land.

I met you as my saviour,

Reached out and took your hand.

But your own determination

Turned my ground to sand.

So I sing:


No, no-no, no,


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I was longing to leap on the stage,
I was longing to practise those clever words,
I was longing to mix my honeyed tones
With sly profanity and glib chatter.
I was longing to declaim those words you had written for me.
And now I have to retreat to the pool,…

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He stands by the casement,
A last flicker of candlelight,
But without, a clear night, a large moon,
Under his quiet gaze,
Steady, lost in his thought.
She stirs, murmurs across the room,
‘Ah, John, art there ?
I thought thou had departed.’

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Prussian girl, she travelled south

In the time of an old regime,
Wandered a foreign city
And knew then the will to change,
By an act contrary
To a nature so self-reliant.
But  -  unbounded, curious
For the untested,
She plucked the apple …

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A bunch of lonesome and very quarrelsome heroes,
Sang Leonard all those years ago.
And romantically I imagined myself just one such hero,
On the open road
(‘The road ahead at night’),
Alone for the moment,
But really connected,

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Like a map reader with his magnifying lens,
I carefully trace the route of our converse,
As in memory I replay phase and phrase,
Following the lines of your quest and my tale.

     Friday and late, sitting there,
     Down by the forested hill,
     We draw…

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