Black Country

He dammed the river needlessly
it overflowed in spate
did she calculate or carelessly
forget the weir gate?

the syllables were spilled and washed
the torrent sluiced the bier
she levelled blame, and he, abashed,
held back from drawing near

but language was his barrier
and water, spirit borne,
grew tongues until philosophy
was anvil, mare and corn.

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