This poem is taken from Stand 225, 18(1) March - May 2020.

Chris Hardy Near Clun
Near Clun

I heard you lived
in a village off
the small main road
and went there on foot.
Left my car
by the crossroads,
walked down the lane
past cottages
cleaned up
to look like cottages,
smoke from chimneys,
ivy’d porches,
an ancient, empty church,
maintained by urgent
appeals for funds.
Even the vicar
only visits
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