OUR SON (Barry Tebb Poems)
Quarter to three: I wake again at the hour of his birth Thirty years ago and now he paces corridors ...
Quarter to three: I wake again at the hour of his birth Thirty years ago and now he paces corridors ...
It brings to mind Swift leaving a fortune to Dublin 'For the founding of a lunatic asylum - no place ...
for Ken Kesey and his merry pranksters in a bus called 'Further...' Dear _______ and here's where the problem begins ...
Alone in Sutton with Fynbos my orange cat A long weekend of wind and rain drowning The tumultuous flurry of ...
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