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Sloe Gin
by
Seamus Heaney
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The clear weather of juniper darkened into winter. She fed gin to sloes and sealed the glass container. When I unscrewed it I smelled the disturbed tart stillness of a bush rising through the pantry. When I poured it it had a cutting edge and flamed like Betelgeuse. I drink to you in smoke-mirled, blue- black sloes, bitter and dependable.
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