Rising straight up
close up
side by side
marching endless
The low December sun
doesn't rise above
their empty
canopies
For trees I can't espy
the distant horizon
the slow meandering
river to the sea
I miss the sea
its open vistas
where unimpeded
the wind blows
It'll be a while yet
before the moorland
feels
my footfall
It'll be a while yet
before the surf
laps
at my feet
It'll be a while yet
before I return
where the lighthouse
lights up my night
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