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By Garpal Stream...

written by: Stanley Wilkin

@catalhuyuk

 

By Garpal stream the young men came

Decades before the flood

On Garpal field they started the game

Quenching the grass with blood.

Down by the hill, near the copse, they lie,

The first to score was the first to die.

 

Every year the young men came

Where the roses and dandelions bud

Eager to play the game

Decades before the flood.

Beyond the hedge these young men lie,

The last to score was the last to die.

 

It rained before Advent, it rained after Lent

The rain fell on pasture and town,

The interminable water did not relent

But poured remorselessly down.

By the end of the year, under the thundering light,

The world was a place of night.

 

A sodden land bereft of men

Garpal field was covered with weeds

As the women waited for the sun again

Spreading a blanket of seeds.

They waited as glorious golden rays

Fell during everlasting unending days.

 

The sprouting seeds grew tall and thin

Turning slowly into beautiful men

In a country filled to the brim

With cattle, wheat and fruit again.

Beyond Garpal stream where the rushes grew

The youths strolled over the grey diaphanous dew.

 

By Garpal stream the young men came,

Decades before the flood,

On Garpal field they started the game

Quenching the grass with blood,

Down by the hill, near the copse, they lie,

The first to score was the first to die.

Stanley Wilkin

Stanley Wilkin

Stanley Wilkin is a freelance lecturer and education consultant working in London
Stanley Wilkin

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