Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
Cakes and ale
Both are fine
Though not together
What else
Then to find
That is better apart
For instance
The singing bowl
And the bodhrán
May in the future
Be looked back upon
As soulmates
While the coir rug
Points to the flat
In Kingsbridge
