Saturday, 2 March 2019
Raith Three
A diagnosis only half true,
she smells the Limes,
asks what's wrong with you,
acts like she knows,
the ties that bind,
blow hard on her bones,
hope brings you truth,
what can't be put right,
except there's no clue,
she won't be alone,
in this cosy light,
sits watching the crows,
has to keep going
through evening and night,
when the kids 'phone,
she sits near the flue,
it's not a crime,
for a fire to bring news,
says she'll be fine,
drink gets her through,
a strange time,
to wonder what's due?
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