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From Seamus Heaney:

March 18, 2016

So winter closed its fist

And got it stuck in the pump.

The plunger froze up a lump

In its throat, ice founding itself

Upon iron. The handle

Paralysed at an angle.

Then the twisting of wheat straw

Into ropes, lapping them tight

Round stem and snout, then a light

That sent the pump up in flame.

It cooled, we lifted her latch,

Her entrance was wet, and she came.

– From Rite of Spring

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