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--chosen-work--
Runner
Your long hair a flail
in the gloom of early May
left right left and like
a whiplash or the tail
of keen retrievers chasing down
their gunshot flapping prey
No weight to lose no time
to waste on this cool morn
and tarmac glistens grey
there is no trace
of footfall where you pass
I know rthat in the silent wood
are bluebells shining
violets in the grass
I hope it is no crime
to say that
you can flail me any time