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Poem

Waking in the night;
the lamp is low,
the oil freezing.

It has rained enough
to turn the stubble on the field
black.

Winter rain
falls on the cow-shed;
a cock crows.

The leeks
newly washed white,-
how cold it is!

The sea darkens;
the voices of the wild ducks
are faintly white.

Ill on a journey;
my dreams wander
over a withered moor.

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