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Kicking the pebbles along Eastbourne beach
as the orange-pink of sunset
plays with the ebbing tide,
my mother asks…
'Twas Springy and the seedy flowers
Did blow and blossom all around.
All wafty were the shrubberies
And floral dust drifts to the ground.
I feel it, first as a stir,turning deep in the murky water.Surfaces up for air, a twitchon the lake in my head.A flip, and it disappears.
When Harry went awayhe stole a part of Mum.No-one warned us. No-one said.We looked and looked for ages –
I am a guillemotI use my bill a lotI get the fish out of the wetI eat my fill a lot.I live on ledgesVertical Edges
He's the Keepy-Uppy Kid.
I was born with a map of Australia on my face;it was beautiful, my mother told me – there was nobody like me in the whole wide worldwho could trace the edges of down under
There is a place (believe me,
she said) where if, if
Peter the orange parrothad a very tiny beak,unlike the other parrotshe was never heard to speak.But they were never nasty to him,Peter the non-talking parrot