London Poem: Day 198

3 March

The minutes clicks slow, and
The life is far away;
The way the warm sun splashes carelessly
Over the great green crests, which
Dip and fall away into the wide grin
Of the horizon beyond, and asks me,
In low tones, “is this what you were too
Blink to see while it lived in your hands?”
“Yes, but love tumbles east, and I too follow it.”
She is now ugly with the same face,
For longing lives in the love I know everyday.
It is never enough, but filling –
I love where I live, and
I know there is no going back.

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