Poem – Kevin Ireland

The shortest day It’s close to the winter solstice in these parts though the precise moment isn’t anywhere near the same as when our northern forebears dragged huge stones for miles then raised them into rows in circles to catch a shaft of light and a savant with a tricky smile would say: ‘I told you so.’ We’re thrilled no more by miracles of prediction or expect a baby god to be dispatched to save us as our speck of cosmic dust floats in orbits through a corner of a backyard of the universe. It takes a granite ignorance and

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