Lockdown Sonnet

What is this secret locked deep within me,
Where do I sift for its six-digit key?
Resting there songs of love, songs for the free,
And witholds to the end of emnity.
No longer newsreaders, jumping sea-sick,
Turned mad from constantly reading death-scripts;
Banned coastal visits from Dover to Wick,
The Severn is burning colours of Styx.
My heart stored in a horse chestnut kernel,
Green caltrops harbour a conker inside,
Ingredients there for life eternal,
The trees loomed on a canal’s waterside.
Landfall is peace with myself, over the sea,
There was no secret, there is no key.

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