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He worked the prison garden and always quite alone

For fear of those reprisals that prisoners deal their own;

He could not tell the police, the courts, for reasons had he none,

Not even to himself could he explain what he had done;

So vacantly he tends his plot and lives each day somehow

And nurtures his geraniums which are his babies now




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John Coopey

Tue 4th Jan 2022 16:03

I don’t like to get too typecast, Kevin. See what’s happened to Ken Barlow.
Yes, I hope to make Well Spoken next week,
And thanks for the Like, Tom.

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kJ Walker

Tue 4th Jan 2022 08:57

An interesting write John. And a bit different for you.
See you next week, all being well.

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John Coopey

Mon 3rd Jan 2022 22:35

Thanks, Tel Boy and John.
And thanks for the Likes, Graham and Pete.


Mon 3rd Jan 2022 21:34

For me the last five words are significant. Good one John.

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John Botterill

Mon 3rd Jan 2022 21:01

This has a real ring of truth to it. There must be many prisoners in that position. Really intriguing. It made me think (which is rare!)
Thanks John.

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John Coopey

Mon 3rd Jan 2022 12:35

Thanks, Greg. Brilliant recovery yesterday but satisfactory for neither Liverpool nor yourselves.

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Greg Freeman

Mon 3rd Jan 2022 09:12

I agree with Stephen. To imbue the word "geraniums" with so much meaning is no mean feat.

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John Coopey

Sun 2nd Jan 2022 20:52

Thankyou, Stephen. I tried to give it a sense of understatement.
And thanks for the Like, Ursula, Stephen A, Holden, Leon and Moonlight.

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Stephen Gospage

Sun 2nd Jan 2022 17:53

A great poem, John. By leaving things unsaid, it says so much in so few words. Disturbing, yet somehow moving as well.

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