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Writer's pictureAnnabel Price

Escape to the moor

I arrived all puffed and worn,

A bit folorn


The world had torn its teeth into the fabric of my coat


You made me a cup of tea and said

Nevermind love! -


What better way to warm a wounded heart

Kettle whistling

The birds flitting in the garden, in their song.


TV babble, fire crackle, laughter from the living room


The winds outside forgotten for a day or two


We were immune to it all and the cold rain -

While the cat napped cozy on your lap.





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