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AN BALLA BÁN
Some days no one comes.
I meditate like an old sage,
glad for the conversation of wind,
the Willow’s back scratch and
the moss boot cuffs.
The days when they came,
I remember a summer coat,
celebrated in snowcem white,
concrete tall and plastered plumb.
Those were the days when
young boys leaned, fingers clung,
with boots dug in well worn ledges.
...
Tuesday 28th May 2024 3:52 pm
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