Some people die in dirty forgotten bedsits
With a ring-wormed cat, eyeing them up like a chop
Others, take their leave on the motorway
Cause pile ups, tail backs
Dragging others with them
Some people die in the womb
Runners, poised on the blocks
Missing the starting shot
You left as a cherished guest
The glen spread out, a feast on a good table
The taste of your favourite poem
Fresh in your mouth
Passing through,
Now you've become the sky
The smoke from last year's leaves
That hint of sweetness in the cherry tree
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