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Wyrd

2021

Oil on Canvas

30 x 90 x 2 cm

Cascading gold O, eyes of north Thy love doth cease to wane. And with thy flowers given forth I receive so too in name. O to find thyself in weirding times Boots upon the level breach Embark upon the tower hood And know such wordless rhyme in peace Atop the combe Before the seat Where I did find my rest. Hitherto shy of the light Now held in tenderness.