The Scent Of CarnationsA Poem by Devonsbased on a 'true' story
Came one night, someone said
"Who was that lady? The one that just left?" "What lady?" I asked (there was no-one else there) "She just passed me in the hallway, immaculately dressed a fluffy cream blouse and blueish-rinse hair" (If she'd known who she was, she'd be rather impressed) "Short lady; glasses, blue suit, debonair - And the way that she looked at me! She gave me such a stare!" Miss McPherson is dead she's been dead now for years she'd never leave this place, she said now she echoes in my ears I heard her counting coins at the end of the night she once cut a small figure and ever so slight but commanded a presence just like she still does an immaculate essence and a scent of carnations blue rinse and glasses and she always wore gloves Miss McPherson is dead but she's really still here she'd never leave this place, she said there's really nothing to fear I took over her classes of church hall dances that's her picture on the wall at a glittering ball The Grosvenor, '55 (some time before she died) but she's very much alive moving hangers in the cloakroom her footsteps by the door she's still here, though she's really no more Miss McPherson is dead though her music still plays she'd never leave this place, she said how she loved the old days! And as I count these coins I can smell her carnations Were the fruits of her loins just invisible sensations? Feelings of bliss must always persist and part of what's gone will always live on The soul must be at rest, the churchman attests and even science appears to be bluffing for nothing is ever what it seems and always seems to be nothing Miss McPherson is dead but is there really such a thing? she'd never leave this place, she said what does death really bring?
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StatsAuthorDevonsSouth West, United KingdomAboutWE BREAK ACROSS THESE TRAM LINES I DRAW by Haz I draw them with lines of reflections through their steps enough space between them for your space.. more..Writing
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