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“Aint’ no need to go to church though; just take a walk”.

               Each path along the back of the Jurassic beast is worn down
               by chalky pilgrims.

               Each low-lying lull of limestone a place to stop and talk.
               These sheep have heard more prayers than men of less wooly cloth,
               The most gratefully received holy waters are by thirsty dog

               from rusty trough.


               I thought of the ammonite-bound hallowed ground below me.
               Of the roots and the boots,

               And trod a li le so er.
               “Where are you going wise traveller?” I asked. I joked.

               “The pub”, he said.
               And he went.














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