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its a far cry from Bucharest
in this dark and earthy shed,
thinks of her tearful mother
the man she's shortly to wed
draughts slice wooden walls,
rats scuttering in the hay-loft,
rubbing her hands for warmth
tells herself not to be so soft
slim candles shadow the gloom,
bloke appears in muddy boots,
shoving his wheelbarrow in a
mini-forest of sprouting ro...
Friday 11th December 2020 10:45 am
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