At the keepers cottage where the whiskered wife doled out sweets
to us children, as our mother picked through vegetables.
....
In the gold light of late afternoon, the tar paper roof
of the keepers cottage lean-to shed gleam
eel dark, as it festered in its oily scent, hinting
of witches. Magpies ganged in three and fours...
....
In the golden late afternoon the tar-paper roof
gleamed dark as eels,
gleamed eel dark, festered in the oily scent
and hinted at witches.
....
In that gold of late afternoon, weary from tumble
we would weave away from the river bank
and the dens. Always without some article of play
that had been dropped, or lost, or tossed into the water
by sort excited type, unhappy at their status
within the clan.
....
There were always magpies on the tar-paper roof
of the keeper's cottage, where we went to buy
vegetables on Wednesday's. Fat from carrion
they picked from the line, and fierce enough to fight
the rats
On the outside table bunched and held by rubber bands were carrots
tinted native purple, cabbages still wet with dew,
and leathery white onions that creaked to the touch.
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