Wrapped in the blanket
To stay warm, moving on,
And your skin getting
Cold, exposed in the dew,
Wondering if they are
Still with us, your people
Migrating
Through the terrible
Snow. A long walk away
From war.
No barns buckled round,
Stocked with feed. No
Brambles, all cutback,
Thinned. Moored.
Walking on a devil's mattress,
With bare faith in the way, and
Repeating to yourself the mantra,
'Something stirs in the East'
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