Write Out Loud November poetry exercise (Remove filter)
Railways cento
There were flags, and a few maps.
The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
A soldier and wife, with haggard look.
The convict, and boy with violin.
The river’s level drifting breadth began.
Things moved. I sat back, staring at my boots.
For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?
Letters of thanks, letters from banks.
And for that minute a blackbird sang.
...
Sunday 11th November 2012 9:02 am
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