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Nov 2016
A dove sat beside me
As I supped my Pint,
Looking away from me
Not meeting my eyes.
The cold in the day
Raising her down,
Puffing her up
To a serious frown.

"Are you happy there,
Thomas, yourself?" says she.
"Sitting there supping
On that warm balcony?
While I take my ease
On this cold metal rail,
Rounded and bested
By the wind at my tail."

"Have you no bit of bread,
Or a crumb of sweet cake?
Have you a drop of the clear
I might care to partake?
No? Well no matter,
It is for the best
As I've much left to do
Before I'm back at my nest."

"The squabs are all waiting
The milk from my crop,
So I'm back up the harbour
With the wind in a strop.
Sit as you are, Master
Take in the dew,
Enjoy it, this Peace,
In this moment, this Truth."

And meeting my eye
With a glint glassy but soft,
She sprang from the rail
And was battled aloft.
I looked on the town
And the harbour-side trade,
Supping my pint,
Mindful and weighed.

Tommy Randell 20th Feb 2016
Tommy Randell
Written by
Tommy Randell  67/M/Whitby, N Yorks, UK
(67/M/Whitby, N Yorks, UK)   
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