The lean
And thinner coppice
She holds no winds
Or taller stories
Of highwaymen masquerading
As tramps or clowns
Or troubadours
In silks and finest gowns
She’s mean
With rotten poppies
Rescinds gold tops
And Cornish toffees
Of children masquerading
As harlots or darling dares
Or harlequins
In diamanté and laced up squares
I’m keen
But have long forgotten hobbies
I see no cinders about to flair
Or street treading bobbies to care
Of adults masquerading
As lovers with slow light flashes
Or layabouts in sackcloth
And forlorn unborn ashes
