It is Autumn. The time where leaves
have already fallen, creating a soft sedge
on the ground. A sedge like that which cradles
The sea crags at Malin Head; dags of stone
Which cry into the unforgiving ocean bare.
When clouds loom overcast, yet light streams
Through in narrow, pale glimmers. That is where
I find you. A journey to the pub in a 2CV,
Red like that crown atop your noble head. The
Guinness reflects the turquoise that you emanate.
Never good enough, besides atop the great Isle;
Poured from but a simple ladle and not a fair fountain
Of rock... Like a clumpy soup designed to keep hearts
Warm and fed. Up and out of my window, with my
Books lying unread atop my bedside table, I wonder...
What is there to come between our souls?
2nd October 2023
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