The hailstones clatter
playfully scatter
chased along the road
by that cold cold wind
Towers of grey
fringed by ice cold ramparts
ponderous move south
closing off the February sun
Gunship metal grey
the sea tosses its manes
like the cumulonimbus
in the wintry skies
Colour washed out
the moors dully cower
as winter persists
over our ancient isles
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