Written by John Holding
Short waves roll east
valleyed streaks of white,
Below the crested grey,
Repeat.
Skyward edge speaks of red
And slow decay.
Repeated,
The landed end falls
To tufted fields,
brown now from summer’s heat,
Watched by Redcliffe
Now in fading black.
Redcliffe:
Lost now in the lonely Shed.
Listen—
can you hear
The rain’s tattoo, its tempo
Requiem.
Text © John Holding
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