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This poem is taken from PN Review 215, Volume 40 Number 3, January - February 2014.

Three Horrors: After Horace Henry King
III.xiii, 'O Fons Bandusiae'

Lynn Creek billows out from the hillside in a sheer
curtain of water, and on summer afternoons
  bands of young men -  kids really,
   proud of the first growth on their faces -  

show off in front of the girls, daring each other
to dive into pools between the waterfalls
  where sometimes one cracks his head
    on hidden rocks, staining the stream.

The city swelters throughout July and August,
but here, shaded by trees, adults with panting dogs
  follow the trails, while children
    play upstream in the cool shallows.

The waters' clamour blends with theirs - many of them
tourists like me - forming a flood that sweeps up
  boulders and second-growth forest
...


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