Benjamin Posted September 13, 2013 Share Posted September 13, 2013 “Carra vash sir?” Trill out the Polish girlswho tout their smiles on the supermarket car park.Leathers and cloths a-swirl round bin carts:bubbling, wetand so far from home.They seek a warmth and kindness from cold passers-by,whose hostile looks cannot deny a sharp disdain.“Bloody foreigners,go back home!”They'd love to shout but dare not call out.The low sunlight disperses early mist:and ancient smells pervade from a woodland carpetof dank yellows and browns; while squirrels,quick and greyforage through the day.Impatient birds wheel and twitter round blackened trees.And we could fly to where our minds so freely soar,a whisper awayfrom the sun.If we only had their wings and strength.Old leaves and litter over the common,waft through bubbles of imagination, where dogsand children once romped in summer's green.Drank sunlitjoy in endless days:till some dark prelate loosed a cabal in their place,or so it seems. Nothing will be the same again.For though clocks go back,time moves on,oblivious to the world of man. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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