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Night Drive
par
Seamus Heaney
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The smells of ordinariness Were new on the night drive through France; Rain and hay and woods on the air Made warm draughts in the open car. Signposts whitened relentlessly. Montrueil, Abbéville, Beauvais Were promised, promised, came and went, Each place granting its name’s fulfilment. A combine groaning its way late Bled seeds across its work-light. A forest fire smouldered out. One by one small cafés shut. I thought of you continuously A thousand miles south where Italy Laid its loin to France on the darkened sphere. Your ordinariness was renewed there.
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Ton pseudo sera publié. Laisses les champs vide pour rester anonyme.
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