Some are born with silver spoons,

Some have laboured down a mine;

Too many, far too early,

Put an end to their life’s line.

Their journeys may be silky smooth,

Though some live like a rake,

But when their time of play is done

Life’s fragile thread may break.

The last walk to the wicket,

The final ball they bowl,

Gives way to empty hours,

When fear wi...

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The sleepy fog of travelling 

Is wrenched away so quick

Standing in the aisle behind

A young woman, pale and sick

She’s shouting at her phone

and at any unwitting glance

Her hard face glares in fury.

No one gets a second chance

Around her people try to ignore

the live circus on display.

And busy themselves with anything

to make it go away.

She st...

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