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Cuttings
Cuttings
They took a sprig from Hatfeild Hall
And planted it in Wakefield Gaol
A Mulberry bush grew on the spot
Its humble origins forgot
And there prisoners exercised at night
Beneath the pale Yorkshire moonlight
Round and round the tree they went
Those sinners who could not repent
Before that Mulberry tree had died
They took some cuttings to the outside
...Saturday 16th May 2020 2:09 pm
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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