Six

6

Almost there

Pushing through the folds of flesh

Cloth billowing on washing lines

Brick terraces stone doorsteps

Sunset glory skyline chimneys

Birdsong in walled alleys

The hope for morality

Fear of the bomb

Fear of Thatcher

Hold the line

Hold tillers

Make your riches

Share them or society stops

Stand in solidarity

The past’s haunting ghosts wail

Future comes through the door

Sits at the table on thrones

High time for reason.

 

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