On An Apple-Ripe September Morning (Patrick Kavanagh Poems)
On an apple-ripe September morningThrough the mist-chill fields I wentWith a pitch-fork on my shoulderLess for use than for devilment.The ...
On an apple-ripe September morningThrough the mist-chill fields I wentWith a pitch-fork on my shoulderLess for use than for devilment.The ...
I do not think of you lying in the wet clay Of a Monaghan graveyard; I see You walking down ...
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