Poetry Blog by Graham Sherwood

It’s nearly March, almost

and the yolk of a breakfast sun

just clears the ridge of next door’s roof,

it lolls, if a sun can loll,

like a trapped balloon

occasionally sliding to the right.

Unseasonably warm the weather girl said

squirrels are trying to outdo the magpies

in a stick-breaking contest

and blue tits come and go 

worrying outside their usual box

but haven...

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