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Black headed gulls turn into the light
An east wind ruffles up the estuary.
The evening sun just catches on the bright
Grey metal holders, stark against the weary
Kentish hills. Two yachts squat at anchor
Tipping slowly in the turning tide
Oblivious to the sluggish German tanker
Slipping out into the North Sea's wide
Neutrality. A rush of starlings coast
Above my head, brushing the evergreen
Which holds the cliff against a host
Of subterranean forces which would cream
The life from this frail margin of the river
Returning it to mud and marsh for ever.
Dr Brian Hick summer 2011
©copyright Sally Hick 24.7.23
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