So I realise this the second time this year I’ve homed in on this poem, but I come back to it again and again. Which is kinda appropriate actually. I just can’t help it. It is so rich, so layered, so honest. But what better ending for these lockdown readings, now that the country is emerging from its Covid19 hibernation (or perhaps, more accurately, that should be aestivation).

There’s too much to say about it, really. But I’ll resist. It needs to speak for itself, which hopefully, my amateurish rendition will allow.

Images used (all my own photos except):

St Pancras Station during the Blitz (colourised by Royston Leonard)
My Ko-fi button

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