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Flora

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We mixed in the ash

With our bare hands,

My sister, my father and me;

Then planted in the standard rose;

It seemed apt;

She was called Flora.

◄ Justin

Quelle Surprise! ►

Comments

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Martin Peacock

Mon 27th Feb 2012 14:00

Let's not think of ourselves as dirty old buggers, rather as having a proper lust for life eh? I like this boyo: it's short, smart and succinct. Perhaps one or two semicolons too many though?

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Isobel

Fri 24th Feb 2012 23:32

This one doesn't rhyme or have any particular structure.

I'm guessing I'm on dodgy ground therefore, if I say that I like it and agree with Harry.

Might you then tell me that you took some random lines of prose and chopped them up?

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Harry O'Neill

Fri 24th Feb 2012 22:22



Unexpectedly touching, John.

(Whether autobiographal or not)

And clearly brief.

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