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    Pellar Song

    The new-age circus has come to town and all wise women go to ground. The sacred glade where once we stood, has been cut down for firewood. From deer park to nesting ground, now concrete jungle all around. The herbs we gathered and dried with care, through sprays and poisons, found no-where. The shells and stones from coast and brook, all hid by rubbish – take a look! The haunting song of the nightingale a whisper ‘gainst the sirens wail. The village green where children played, is where the drunks and junkies sway. And in the lanes we used to ride, now souped-up engines, past us, fly. So what has…