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At swimming once,I went to turn from front to backand just kept turning,just kept turning,turning over,over and over,till the swimming teacher said,
Forest could keep secretsForest could keep secrets
We're floating into the blue,Me and my blue balloon.Over the rooftops of the town,The brown fields and the treesAnd the Downs – we're floating,
Nobody can see my name on me.My name is insideand all over me, unseenlike other people also keep it.Isn't my name magical?
When they were young,She kept wicket for her brothers,They batted,Bowled,Padded upAnd ratcheted up the score.She crouched behind the stumpsKeeping wicket.
My Gran was a Caribbean ladyAs Caribbean as could beShe came across to visit usIn Shoreham by the sea.
In our flatfaces speakof places across the sea.
In our flatvoices walk intalking, but not like me.
The seagulls are doing their dance again – Wings clasped to their sides, they stare up the street.Up and down, up and down, go their knobbly pink knees;
The space is a friend.I tell it what hurts.
I tell it why I'm not good.The space is a friend.I tell it the bother I'm in.It won't let me tell lies.