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 How I loathe this land of my exile,

Concrete upon concrete,

Steel upon steel,

Glass upon glass

In massed battalions

And no way back.
My mind moves to a far-off place To a hill-top where the wind is my succour, Its blow and howl and rage Over the springing turf and heather Calms as the song of a mother And the last light’s glimmer.

by Barry Tebb
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