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Poetry from within


Keeper of the croft

Fresh hay gathered and stored in the loft

The land he doth work with honourable hand

For many of the hour-glassís grain of sand

Keeper of the lighthouse

Often in solitude, no place for a spouse

He doth ensure the light shone out yonder

So ship ahoy doth not crash upon rocks asunder

Keeper of thy Dale and Vale

Tending sheep and fields, come rain or hail

Builder of farms and dry stone walls

Eating heartily, Silent witness to cascading falls

Keeper of forests and woodland

Working the ground, timber and scrub by hand

Managing the trunks of ye old English tree

Tall splendid, covered in dew for the morn eye to see

Keeper of net out to sea

The harsh nature of the oceans it is for thee

With a crash, another boiling frothing wave doth spray

One slip, one mistake will carry you away

The keeper is a lonely task

For many it is too much to ask

A hardy and tough life to lead

But honourable and worthwhile indeed

Chris Duncan