Author: Doreen Hopwood


 She was unfortunate.
Not that it happened very often.
The intention was to sublimate
your being, allow your memories to soften

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She had not expected to see a river,
shining brightness or sweet song
perhaps, instead a serpentine sliver
of water wound its way along

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I watch the birds, black headed gulls,
rooks and solitary crows,
heads cocked, a momentary lull
in their raucous cacophony.

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