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This poem is taken from PN Review 28, Volume 9 Number 2, November - December 1982.

In the West Country C.H. Sisson

THE rooks rise, the pee-wits rise
Mud on the ground, cloud in the skies
Enough space for all those wings
Caw said it, the pee-wits signaled
Pouring over the empty skies.

I am alone within the circle
Of low hills, I know its ways
Somerton Moor, slight hills, great girdle
Green floor and most open days
None walks here without intention
Even I, when here, have mine
But the floors of all the oceans
Have no depths more submarine
Here we are under the heavens
As under waters, birds are fish
The sky changes, a shadow passes
As it were a passing ship.
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