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Wednesday, 3 July 2019

Discards Whatever I Throw

The boiler is travelling from Italy
Possibly cheaper by a thousand pound
The world is now the marketplace
I'm no longer on solid ground

I've found all manner of failings
As I've carried on looking around
I've lent against Georgian railings
Listening out for Gregorian sound

I've glimpsed you in the morning
I've glimpsed you in the night
You came clear without warning
How is that even half-way right

That you should hold such a place
Arrive just whenever you might
Bring the memory of your face
With the thought to fly my kite

The light is clearer now
The fears have been exposed
It's a bit of a sham and how
I thought the issue could be closed

I don't suppose I could call it poetry
It most certainly isn't prose
But it is a heartfelt piece of treasure
For someone who nobody I know knows

For somebody who if I wanted to be cruel
I could say she discards whatever I throw
A once wonderful woman who I can’t even dual
A past treasure who to no one can I show


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