We’re on a train, GWR and its fine new livery. I’m on my way back from WOMAD, where I’ve bathed my ears in poetry from some of the UK’s finest mouths and minds, been moved to laughter, tears, and many of the piquant spaces in between, heard testimonies of the heart from poets new to me – Birdspeed, Melanie Branton – and familiar – Liv Torc, Jonny Fluffypunk and Beryl the Feral. Wondering if I couldn’t be more political/personal, I was making notes, asking questions, answering them in illogical rhyme. I recalled an old verse:

They say why do you sing
This very very song
They say ...


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