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1955, perhaps?<\/strong><\/p>\n Late winter afternoon. A London Park. <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Sue Hubbard<\/strong> is an award-winning poet, novelist and art critic. She has published 3 collections of poetry, two novels and a book of short stories. As the Poetry Society\u2019s Public Art Poet she was responsible for London\u2019s largest public art poem at Waterloo.\u00a0 A novel will\u00a0 be published by Duckworth in January.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" 1955, perhaps? Late winter afternoon. A London Park. The distant trees ghostly on the far bank of the bleak lake. Four and seven, say, in camel coats with beaver collars, feeding the ducks. I am holding a bag of bread standing beside my sister as we stare ahead in the line of […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-14747","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14747","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=14747"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14747\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15102,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14747\/revisions\/15102"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=14747"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=14747"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=14747"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nThe distant trees ghostly on the far
\nbank of the bleak lake.
\nFour and seven, say, in camel coats
\nwith beaver collars, feeding the ducks.
\nI am holding a bag of bread
\nstanding beside my sister
\nas we stare ahead in the line of duty
\nwith nothing between us except
\na strip of grey water
\nand a single moorhen sailing blithely by.
\nAbove rain clouds gather
\nas the last few birds dart for shelter
\nbefore the sky splits open.<\/p>\n