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Harry and Morris were together all those twenty years

Theirs was not the Oxford of dreaming spires;

not screaming tyres,

but purring, perfect, permanence.

And then,

and then.......

The legacy of.....

Countless years of........

Stirring and striking,

destructive infighting;

poor Morris died.

No nightmares for the spires,

just Harry pined

No more would his hands

caress the strands of

fine tuned nerves

through that sleek

and rounded body.

The Oxford Harry loved

was gone.

Morris Oxforddreaming spiresBMCBritish Leyland

◄ Tiger in the Dark Woods

In Poetry ►


darren thomas

Sat 12th Dec 2009 11:02

It's great to see you back posting, Mal.


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