Spooners Bar Poem by Graham Fowell
Spooners Bar
The clunking minutes above the fire
Drop into my pint.
There is no splash but they are gathered
In the bottom of my glass.
Proof that I sat with you
In our happiest place
And like the coming and going of the tide
So our glasses ebb and flow.
Monday, July 14, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: love
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4/26/2024 2:43:57 AM # 1.0.0.1119
