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by Roy K Austin
(Dorset England)

Above the antique glass
and wistful steeple,
where the man - made hours pass
the timeless people,

where acres of green trees
hypnotise my eyes,
the figured ghosts of these
in the changing skies ;

when above and below
are one and the same
and I am the people
in a Lowry frame,

to see in a picture
what words cannot tell,
or move with the crowd
to the chimes of a bell,

when faith is not to know
what transcends this life,
and reason is a child
in the endless strife.

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