Fen
Oh how I loved those Sunday walks
down lanes so lazy they made no bend,
when we would as a family talk
and say 'hello' to strangers and to friends.
At the level crossing gate when passing trains
made us wait, I reveled in the thunderous shake,
as I waved in the wake of skimming faces
and fought my sister to raise the latch.
There no feature was taller than me, but trees
and the distant bank of the hand dug cut,
and sometimes we turned in parallel
toward the cottage that sold raspberrys.
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