Here lies Martes Flavigula, eternally beneath the splintered earth.

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Poems -

A peasant woman tossed
a small, clay pot into
the corner of
her hovel where
it shattered and - though
she had formed it
herself from mud of
an evaporated lake and - though
she had fired it
herself in a kiln long
gone dormant, it had
soured the taste of
her meals

Along with martens, goulish goats and the rippling fen -
these writings 1993-2023 by Bob Murry Shelton are licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

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