Perch to Conker – Poetry by Ben Woodward
Perch to Conker
Softly creep in thicklim!
sit where the wind is slow,
smack dead a perching flyter
that drinks your evening glow
I am legionary!
I conquer with my boots!
I am blessed with boundless skies
and digested by these roots
Ben Woodward
Author: Jude Gidney - Editor
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