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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,
When they were young,She kept wicket for her brothers,They batted,Bowled,Padded upAnd ratcheted up the score.She crouched behind the stumps
My Gran was a Caribbean ladyAs Caribbean as could beShe came across to visit usIn Shoreham by the sea.
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.