those plans

mapped in mind, early
rose into hope at nine,
slowly slid as we cleared
the way.

other dreams caught us,
the colour, the flower.

wondered at the old bag.
bottles, that have no meaning,
yet, mean everything.

it stood in dust for 30 years,
the rag inside a comfort.

as a museum. now jon lord
plays, the durham cathedral.

sbm.

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