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Oh What a Beautiful Baby
My mother loved me
my aunt loved me
my cousin’s wife
on my father’s side loved me
they all loved me
they kept kissing me and kissing me
until I became a wrinkled prune
so I cried and cried
Now nobody loves me
I don’t cry any more.
I am still a wrinkled prune
without the kisses
what am I going to do?
I will write poetry
A Dream
A figure lies still
on the double bed
the sound is a lapping of waves
from a distant shore
a breeze ruffles the curtains
And the waves recede
in the darkening shadows
of the room
I can hear the cry
of a solitary gull
and the beating of wings
Only the ache in my heart remains
Jack Mashman |
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