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Cole Ridge Poem
© 2008 – Joy Sheppard

Blythe gale,
Peasants to hail,
Why canst thou fling free?
Soar over the churning sea in wild ecstasy?
Must you always salt my soars?
Bitter struggle tasted by scores
Inflicted by you, the curses rebound
Upon the shipwrecked Sound
Enslaving master and taskman alike
Oh, wild spirit, why not burst the dike
And fly home?
To roam
Frree