With precise movement, Uniform in its execution, The blacksmith in his forge Pumps his pneumatic bellows, Raising a shudder in the torchwood: Terrible tangles of acrid smoke And amber flickers denote The rising of a delirious phoenix No longer skulking in her cave of timber. Satisfied with the ravenous ration, The blacksmith heats a horseshoe […]
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
writing in north norfolk 