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John Irving Clarke
After The Storm
After the storm
we potter,
random in our course
salvaging what we can
in silence.
Correcting, straightening, mending.
Building for the future
with minute careful tending.
And sadder, wiser, without hurry
we meet
tentative, reluctant to accept
the night could hold such fury.
​
John Irving Clarke
Poetry Gallery
© 2012 by SAMANTA JONES
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