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Poem

I opened a book
and a hand fell out.
I turned a page
and heard a shout:
'I'm lost in a wood;
my mother's no good.'
I couldn't bear to look

Poem

The seagulls think we live at the seaside:
the tower blocks are their cliffs;
they swoop for fish in the gutter
but are happy that it's last night's fried rice.