By Emma Woodford

Flat canal fog,

disappearing trees line

adroitly planted paths.

Water flows coal barges

float, with cars parked.


The train glides, buildings

grow gravel patches

spread like butterflies.

Roads pass ponds with

corner herons standing,

are they watching

fish or waiting

for the sun.


November days passing,

greyly lit winter,

curling comfort Christmas

still to come.



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