Well, I will not claim this as one of the world's finest poems (!) but I have a sneaking liking for it.
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Where lichened seats
Commemorate
Old maids,
And autumn braids
With berry sweets
Hang soon and late
In shades,
The year’s light fades,
The birds in bleats
Lament their fate
Like jades,
Each seat degrades
In frosts, in heats,
Like shrouded, strait,
Old maids.
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© December 2016
