from june 2002
blue vol II
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Eanna Dowling

Oak Wood Requiem



Our faces touching bluebells
I push a chardonnay drenched strawberry into your mouth with my lips.

Into the clearing abseils a shaven headed woman
Chanting the coming of chainsaws.

Rocking in our tree top cradle,
We conceive the last child of the plundered forest.

- Eanna Dowling







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