| At the dusty road’s divide
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| We took the left fork for a mile
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| To reach a black cast iron gate
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| And as the rusty hinges yawned
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| Through the trees we saw the path into the old estate
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| Stone lions alone can’t keep us out
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| While eagles and crows are sleeping
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| We followed the road open mouthed
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| We watched as the old place breathed its last
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| Yellow diggers in a row
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| Cough back into life and stretch
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| To gulp the dusty sunlight
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| Through the rafters through the brick
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| Chimneys fall and push the past
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| Out through the broken skylight
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| Stone lions in rows, rising up
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| In driveways and private gardens
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| Stone lions alone, guarding us
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| From gargoyles and long lost pardons
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| Stone eagles and crows flying off
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| To new and forgotten places
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| Stone lions alone staring out
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| Into our newborn faces
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| Stone gods creep across the terraces
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| Keystones and backstreet places
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| Dust, fossils, and mud perishes
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| Into our newborn faces |