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room for a littl'un
..spring's palette
as brought to life by the artist's eye
has me craving march sunlight
when we've been cloud-locked so long
even the daffodils
stunted
and thin in bloom
(missing those that sprang too early from their beds)
look overwintered amidst
cart horses and coal fires
grey socks and leather lace-ups
for the luckier kids
frozen milk on the doorstep
standing proud of glass bottles and
topped with red foil caps
holes pecked in them by the birds
hurry up, march-shine
i'm withering here
>Blue bird< on the willow branch
sun bright brilliant hue
rare sight outside the window
my thanks for a hasty view
Here is the grave of Harry the Brave who
died waiting for an empty parking spot
Supper, buzzy?
hungry
I remember that moon rising above the banjo
As I fill/accumulate paper work I come to the part that asks for proof that we actually shared the same air and sky, and of all the photographs of England, there's not one of us both in the shot
,, it was
how do we prove that? i could get the kids to write statements.... oh 'eck. and then there're all our pms...
it was a glorious june, the weather put on its best for you.
,, it was
Remember Trafalgar, dressed in orange Sikhs,
fancy tea and Rembrandt, Michelangelo
a jaunty blue bowler
a grainy black n white
captures the native night life
crossing the scenery
shaggy, overwintered
upright and feral
on a mission
a rare sighting of a wild harry!
so much depends
upon
a green visa
card
and a phone as it
rains
we aint no white
chivkens.