The Fen
by [REDACTED]
The dry wind blows the gutters clean
The puddles disappear
And all the world sighs
With relief and joy
The rain has come and gone
Here comes the sun.
But here under the sheltering leaves
Among the ferns and the slugs
The brackish water sits
Undisturbed and patient.
It will still be here tomorrow
And the day after.
A bog
A swamp
A fen
Building up the bottom of the world
So in ten thousand years
It will be burned.
Fire from water.
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