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POEMS BY PIP
We sit and laugh with friends we
And as time passes, watch them go
Melting back into the crowd
Drifting as a passing cloud
A speck of life in a timeless sea
Much to short for you or me
All too soon we see Death's shroud
Remembered as a passing cloud
Friends departed, lovers lost
We sit alone and count the cost
Treasured kisses, forgotten tears
Passing clouds across the years.
The Old House
A garden choked with dying weeds
Renewed each spring by wind blown seeds.
Ragged hedgerows; once so neat
Entomb the broken rustic seat.
Cracks across the window pane
Dripping taps like endless rain
Faded patterns on the wall
Dusty paintings in the hall.
Dislodged slates that cause a leak
Rattling knobs on doors that creak.
Blackened pots on a leaded range
Empty cupboards smelling strange.
The old house crumbling at its seams
A shell so full of broken dreams.
Chipped and scarred, the quarry floor
No one lives here anymore.
Plaster peels as timbers sag
And faded curtains turn to rag.
Iron trivets cloaked with rust
Ashes to ashes; dust to dust.
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