Martin's poem has since been, recently, published, but as it is not available online he has graciously given me permission to post it here.
It just goes to show, one's poems do eventually find a home....
The beet hills massed expectantly
As we left the field and headed
Down the track towards the stream.
Colour flashed in the rutted lane;
A crushed salamander, vividly dead,
Spread gut-strewn in a puddle.
The straggling blackthorns shrugged, as if to say:
‘You may have been able to walk through fire, my friend,
But you were no match for a tractor.’
From United In Words, Poetry Now, Peterborough, 2009, (www.forwardpress.co.uk) ISBN: 978-184418-490-3