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the pheasant waits ( stiaw tnasaehp eht )
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beneath the sun, within the spring or summer's song upon the moor as heather hues her purple patch with specks of white from tor to tor when eyes are light & bright's the view as pipits twitch & plover roam we wander of an afternoon but scum the squall of autumn's gloam as mist - it shawls, a shroud of cloud a coat, a ghost or sort of cloak a pheasant stalks up on the moor & feasts upon the flesh of folk sing balladeers & bearded goats as mangles wring in winter's whips so hide inside - steer clear the moor until the thaw of drops & drips until the choral coppice calls with daffodils beside the road until the woodland knells her bells & so the croaks of crocus toad but while the weasel breezes snap & foxes trot as badgers snarl the pheasant lurks beyond the birch some say her name is craig or carl hum mumbled yarns in rusted barns the pheasant waits in bogs of peat as ale is supped within the dale she's horned & tall - at least ten feet for centuries - we wander not in dawn or eve or dregs of day beyond the leas & stretch of trees as death is there - or so they say ...