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Friday 22 September 2023

What, 4.27 ...

What, 4.27

only? And I just wrote

that time goes too fast.

In one afternoon, two

poems so much opposed!

The other poem mentioned was not written for my 'Book of Days', but I’ll show it to you anyway:

It goes staccato now –

when I bend to the past,

see the miles covered.

I’d like a softer flow,

lento or legato.

Prompted simultaneously by Friday Writings #95 at Poets and Storytellers United, where Rommy invites us to be inspired by the idea of losing track of time, and by Grace at dVerse introducing us to the Flamenca or Seguillida Gitana form.

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Comments are moderated. Please don't panic if they don't appear here immediately. (I live DownUnder, so if you're UpOver, time difference may cause delay.)