This afternoon on the waste strewn black scree
Of a slag heap on the mountains high slope
I hear a plovers call in the far distance
I’ve come here each day for a week
Photographing the way that plants re-colonise
The barren ground of frost shattered shale.
Somehow a small yellow flower has emerged
Amongst the splinters of this barren mire
And life slowly returns to the black slope.
And nature prevails…
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Naturally!
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