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A poet chanced upon a while to linger in the younger lands
of Wrexham, on a projects worth of learning late last Spring.
As part of Lead Creative Schools our fool who art in Arts own mind
arrived, began to play and found a flow where plans could manifest.
This pioneer ( in name of dux ), a wordsmith with a love of books
took poetry to school each day, releasing verse & plenty.
In oracy we found our words and co-discovered what was heard
in naming things we grew the world, as children found their voice.
In Llay we sired a Miners Song where history was threaded through
to find a seam of whimsied prize In treasures deep below…
Three Miners went to mine, mine, mine
To see what they could find, find, find
The miners found a sheep, sheep sheep
The mine was very deep.
Claphand rhythms released in play the fortunes of forgotten past
the maybes of another land where nonsense served to break the fast.
Meanwhile and simultaneously across the A483 our clownpoet playmaker wordsmith dux immersed himself in an infant world and the garden realm of Rofft.
Here the Lorax, read aloud on meters Dr Zeuss once wrote
by rote we learned the rhyming sounds arriving at UNLESS.
Seeds are sown in soil which hungers / longing for the life ahead
needing all that makes us stronger / rising from our infant bed.
Without voice our seedlings sing and dance the song of life itself,
needing only that which matters / love is found in common wealth.
Sons and daughters finding life as siblings to our natures kin
one in wholeness, mother Gaia lost in eden’s primal sin.
In our lessons see our yearning, learning to respect our place
In the midst of all that’s knowing finding trust in sacred grace.
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