Remember, when we walked the Wolds,

the valley, that September night?

When shadows crept from every fold

full ripe the moon swelled into sight


and stile and sheep-trod marked our way

to where no human voice was heard,

just jackdaw watched, and rabbit played

and pheasant, that man-nurtured bird,


feigned loud its freedom in the wood

till one paternal shot cracked out.

So much for trust reared not in love.

No bond is ever free from doubt.


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