Yarndale, Yorkshire

The road is not far
from here I can hear
the cars passing through
the night

the corridor is not far
from here I can hear
idiots disturbing
all of us in our beds

the day was bright,
packed with bodies
pressing in aisles, bodies
filling all the seats, bodies
buying, browsing, eating, drinking,

and quietly in corners
sheep, angora rabbits.
Yarn of every description 
everywhere

and visible signs of all
things soft, made by hand.

My love is not far:
he sleeps quietly,
oblivious, blissful rest.

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