OLDTOWN


OLDTOWN

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On a fine spring November day

I walked through the falling leaves,

On silver paths at Oldtown:

The chestnut tree

Longing for the snowdrop,

The long pond

Abandoned by the snipe,

A scared pheasant

Pained me:

At Saint Patrick’s well

I cupped my fingers,

Drank the crystal water

And bathed my eyes.