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Tho we be like strands of nettle, each with his own drop of particular poison, tho over the years we have tangled now and then like tomcats in the alley....

Be it not the beauty and allure of this gathering of writers to appreciate and admire the difference found within?

T'were it not for the likes of Francis this site would lack bite, would lack spice and would lose much of its' erstwhile attraction.

So wherefore art thou Frank?
I miss your stuff. I miss your sharp tongue...
I miss your intellect and repartee!

Wherefore art thou Francis?
M.
Many, many moons ago we lost another who just vanished like Frank.
He had a similar style to Frank, just as searching, slightly less acidic but like Frank his contributions were very edifying and widely appreciated.
I speak of "JP".
Long gone, much missed and richly remembered.
M.
I have been so lucky to know a dog...

To know the enduring love of mud puddles and everything pure.

To know joyfulness in a greeting,
and the happiness of eating a stick.

To know gentleness and nuzzling,
and the softness of fur blowing in a breeze.

To know a wagging tail and the thumping of paws on the floor.

I have been so lucky to know a dog...
For my Dillon dog...

They give us so much more than we give them.
many times;
left freckles scattered across my skin.
The sun has kissed me more times than you have,
but just barely.
Who would think a rose so sweet
Would dry and crumble at the feet
And blooms that scent the night and day
Would steal a heart, then fade away

With petals soft and fondly red
Sweet essence fills an addled head
Then turns to dust before the eyes
Leaving naught, but sad surprise

Who would think such thorny vine
Could lift a blossom as divine
And by the stem on which it stands
Could so wrong an offered hand

Such strength and beauty is rarely true
A blessing owned by very few
As 'neath the soil, in winters keep
There sleeps a rose to tear a cheek

Who would think that perfect bloom
Could be a bane, a curse of doom
So fine a sight, yet in disguise
A rose to ***** and blind the eyes
his words take my breath away
his stars are not my stars
and there are worlds in-between

so i come back and i sit
and trace all the letters
slow, slow

i let my heart wander
just far enough
to feel the mountain air

singing feels like flying
from the pines
on the mountain

his words take my breath away
and i don't mind much
.
Far and away,
above and beyond,
a lonely girl sings to herself in the dark.

Far and away,
above and beyond,
she is answered only by a black dogs bark.


© Pagan Paul (20/07/18)
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