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Copyright 2016

There is a place beyond our ken,
where poets live
of mortality,
a golden place
of formless shade and shadow,
forgotten footpaths where the soul
was meant to tread.

I know you dwell there,
each bud of thought blossoming
into paintings, pictures,
and stories to please
the rest
who are at rest
with you.

One day I will stroll
alongside a fragrant stream,
and smile to see you there,
patient Willow,
a friend prepared to dream away
the hours of oblivion
in the magic wilderness
of invention.

Rich Roach, 2016

Peter Crossland
aka Willowdown

November 1953 -- February 2016

In Loving Memory