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Time and time again I find myself,
Repeating the words I often let loose,
From my lips of which a million sonnets,
Speak through ashy remains of fire.

Yet here I am again lost in my own mind,
The touch of the wind forcing me to gain a trust,
Between myself and the nature that surrounds,
Its broken beauty seeping through remnants.

Your heart is that of silver,
Expensive but not quite a golden artwork,
As one I would find in the national gallery,
To feast my eyes upon its rituals.

Yet here I sit upon the ground,
As you stand above me with a gaze of a million kisses,
And I wonder what my life would be this day,
If we hadn't crossed paths the next.

I wonder how much damage you have endured,
And then I look back at my own and realise,
I am a broken mess of forgotten dreams,
A hopeless reality shattered by grace.

Yet here I continue to sit,
The goosebumps trailing my arms like snakes,
An analogy that frightens me,
Just as your love scares me to the bone.

Chance after chance,
Time after time,
I run back to your perfect eyes and charming smile,
Because you help me to forget who I really am.

You bring out my smile and banish my selfish ways,
You allow me to remain myself yet different at the same time,
And I cannot help,
But love you...
When Rome fell down,
Don Newton with his flashing blade
Took over.

He marched the corridors of Table Tennis power
For more than fifty years.
And graced a multitude of committees with his
Presence.

As Mister NALGO, Don constructed
A glorious empire
Of countless teams
At many a venue:
Down Pasture Street,
In Weelsby, Yarra, Knoll,
Electric Club,
Saint James...
To name a few.

Amassing titles and cups
From every division
Of the Grimsby League:
A roll of honour too long to recall,
Now stretching to the horizon.

No fancy sponge, reversed rubber,
Or long-pimples for our Don.
Give him a plain old Barna bat,
Devoid of sponge, short-pimples out,
To give that ball a mighty clout.

The simple things in life
Were all he wished:
A pint of mild,
Or game of chess,
Would always go down well.

This table tennis granddad knows the score,
And takes his leisure now,
Contented as
The sun goes down.

Paul Butters
Dedicated to my old friend Don, who passed away in the early hours of 9\2\2015. Actually composed when he retired from serious involvement with table tennis in 2009. Have slightly amended it tonight, hopefully for the better.

— The End —