Monday, 4 April 2022

such sadness

 such sadness 

the pollarding of the trees

in suburban silence

all the doors locked on every street

the fingers point skyward 

if any of the rush do deem to see

do ever deem it worth a look up

and down the same streets they go

frozen in each concreted row

beautiful in bark and sometimes leaf

who deemed it thus i want to know

what curtailment of aspiration

lent lead to the planner’s pencil

turned not to gold 

along the old alchemy

facades of sad

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