At night when all colours blend into one
Writing about familiarity, the burden which life brings
All this can be reversed with the dawn sound of bird song.
Daily he walks by this ramshackle house
It becomes more dilapidated week on week
Those who made this house a home
Now interred in a nearby graveyard
Siblings, scattered thither and yon
Dispersed to a place called somewhere.
The film clip of memory, once one begins to analyse
Will in time blossom into a rose garden.
(c)Poetry from The ManShed
23/08/19
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