A Merry Widow - Poem by Ian Bowen
From a pretty lace bed,
in the chamber
of a cosy widow, where old ornaments
dusted to death by the feathers of ostrich,
sit on polished shelves;
where a soldier in khaki, glares at me
from behind glass.
She comes out of the bathroom,
and turns his photo...
to 'about turn' and face
the lily patterned wall.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
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