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Courtrai
The Bevis Frond
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When I come home from Corthrae
I'll sit you on my sapling
Kiss my lips that reek of mustard
Burn my eyes that fill your hair
In pools of blood-stained paper
Our stillborn seaside laughter
Blows away to far-flung fragments
Wrecked by those too cold to care
When I come home from Corthrae
I'll plant my weary standard
In the hills by sheer and gull-shore
Silent safe for birds and air