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By Maggie Davison

Purple, grey, deep blue
the night slips away as gathering gusts
hammer the new dawn.
Tall trees' branches shake
leaves tremble like lace
in a demon's fist

I stand in awe; one
woman out of doors,
flimsy dressing-gown
one street Irish town
the heavens fight back
thunder rents the sky
rain drops, patters, drowns

Picking up my skirt I run
over the long grass, dew damp,
to shelter - a gypsy's van
where loved ones snore in rhythm
it's dark, cramped, noisy, but dry


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