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Poem

He was seven and I was six, my Brendon Gallacher.
He was Irish and I was Scottish, my Brendon Gallacher.
His father was in prison; he was a cat burglar.

Red Cherry Red
Poem

The moon was married last night
and nobody saw,
dressed up in her ghostly dress
for the summer ball.

Red Cherry Red
Poem

When I was born
I was a familiar,
a black cat, Satan’s favourite form.