They Sing just for her

Let me tell you of the tragedy of Friday, last.

I was pulling and tugging at a truculent bag that refused to leave the back of my car when, my favourite cane of all time, fell to the ground. She was broken, not in half, but broken. Her stretched sinews exposed.

We have been together since the very start.

I fell to my knees and held her in my hands. I yelled out to the sky; “Why?, Why?, Why?“.

I cried and cried.

People in the car park stopped and stared. I cared not. She was gone.

I laid her to rest at midnight
Beneath the cherry tree
Lollipop, for that was her name, would like it there
In the sunshine
And, the birds, will sing for her
Every day.

On the bright side: I bought a new cane.

Her name?



This Post Has One Comment


    Fucking hell.
    You know it.
    I know it.
    I am a fucking poet.

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