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Blind Date
a scarecrow screams
wood pigeons rise
they can't believe their beady eyes
across the fields
he stiffly strides
years of east winds in his sides
its love he lacks
he's getting old
he wants to come in from the cold
there was a cry
one of his own,
from miles away over walls of stone
what will she think?
is he her type?
imagines her framed ...
Saturday 9th October 2021 10:47 am
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