Warning: Amphigorical Content!

grubby grists of euphuistic prolixity

Wednesday, 7 April 2010

Friday Night Bus

Last night in my dreams when you whispered you'd died
On the park bench your coffin and I side by side
I held your hand with the white lid drawn back
Warm sun on your face, brave words on your plaque
Then I played my guitar and we busked for your fare
For the Friday night bus to heaven knows where.
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Spagphacious Aeolotony by Philip Damian-Grint is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-No Derivative Works 2.0 UK: England & Wales License
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