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This poem is taken from PN Review 115, Volume 23 Number 5, May - June 1997.

There is a Path Oliver Marlow


There is a path goes right across a field,
High across the middle of a nothing sort of field,
A field of mostly grass.

I am here today,
Buffeted, hearing
Nothing but the blowing

Till I turn away,
And hear the quiet thunder of a distant aeroplane
Drifting into grey,

While all the time and all around
Busy songs of birds
Rise from the ground.

I can see behind
Two school towers,
Red, black, over green trees;

Ahead, a church's only tower,
...


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