Poetry Blogs (day 11)
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Grit
Grit
I cannot say for certain where I’m ‘from’
beyond the day I crawled into this world
and that’s the way I like it, truth be told,
to shape my own existence from the start.
That blond boy there with freckles and basin cut,
a shy one, wearing simple NHS specs,
in clothes bought big so he could grow
to fill them on a diet of Yorkshire pud.
An artist’s bent...
Thursday 11th April 2019 2:17 pm
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