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Thursday, 24 January 2013

Given Words

I cannot read
More than one page at a time
The concentration is not with me

Instead I look east, or west
To blue grey skies
To pink and golden sunsets

Further south, small fluffy clouds
Wisps of joy for my feeble mind
Through the flat fields of East England

Farmlands; diggers dig new ditches
Beyond the grain store a smokestack
Beyond the straw bales a chapel

Our shadows speed over the stubble
Dusks gentle conversation is calming
The sun on the last day she gave me

Hope that there will always be hope