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Saturday, 25 February 2017

Tricornered

Tricornered

Stitched to the map, a touch askew, thousands visit for the view,
it is hanging by a threaded blue.
Tricornered.
You men from grey granite hewn,
contemplate seas from dappled dunes
dig into earth for copper and tin
calloused mines and hardened skin.
Dragging over weathered moor,
Smelted, melted, sweated ore.
Tricornered.
You Spaniards, pirates, buccaneers,
smugglers, kidnappers, black marketeers
blood coated troops and musketeers:
wrecked on rocks, hung and speared.
Dark hued maidens with eloquent eyes
look athwart the land; young yet wise.
Tricornered.
You inspired a thousand pens and brushes,
down among the reeds and rushes.
Wizened vines on withered farms,
whisper words and calls to arms.
And shall Trewlawney rise again?
Richard Lander break his chains?
Stitched to the map, a touch askew,
it is hanging by a threaded blue.

Cornwall foreswornered.

Tricornered.