The bracken and the mountain ash
cleave to an open shaft;
a dropped stone makes a distant splash
as if a miner laughed
...
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Ah, Roy your writing makes me hear that wind on the high -strung wire, what a splendid piece! !
Thank you Margaret. It is a child hood memory of the Cornish moor near the old mining village of St. Newlyn East. Have a happy new year!
amazing as usual, good poem by good poet..