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what asks me to walk out tonight, if not the honeysuckle scent, or thinking of that frantic cabbage white and wondering where on earth, or air it went.

It fluttered off a buddleia cone after heavy shower released, somehow, so many in just one, just one
puff of wings in the buzzing bee-policed.

Outbursts of windy semi-sunshine when robins, finches, wrens and tits flew to the feeders, instinctive and benign,
mounting their famished, beaky visits.

I listen to my old watch tick against the smell of the earth and shrubs, then find my bench, tapping my walking stick between the roses in there fragrant tubs.

And how like most of life this is, existence, its serenity,
Aware of time keeping its promises, facing what happens without self pity.


seen this poem etched on the glass in my mothers doctors today, thought it was lovely x

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Yes, that IS lovely! Copied to favourites to enjoy again and again and again and ........ :o)

17 Nov, 2012


A lovely poem..I too have added it to my 'favourites' It makes me consider the mortality of life...Thank you for sharing it.

17 Nov, 2012


Thanks for including this poem :o)

17 Nov, 2012

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