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Surround yourself with hearts of love and glee, |
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don't squander precious time on those that frown, |
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or those that make a crappy cup of tea. |
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That's pretty simple, right? A basic plea. |
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I feel I shouldn't have to write this down: |
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“Surround yourself with hearts of love and glee” |
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should be a thing you learnt on mother's knee |
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before you reach the lessons more profound; |
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and “Don't accept a crappy cup of tea”? |
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that should be simpler still, it seems to me – |
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as English as a quiet market town |
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where English folk (devoid of love and glee) |
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read Rupert Brooke and sunbathe by the sea, |
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and fly their flags at every passing crown, |
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fill empty souls with endless cups of tea. |
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Oh gods – now I’m conflicted. Could I be |
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condemned to live among these clowns, |
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forever seeking hearts of love and glee, |
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surrounded by their crappy cups of tea?
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This February four* intrepid poets set off on adventure into poetry territory. Twenty-eight* days, twenty-eight* sonnets. Let's go! (*sometimes more)
05 February 2023
#5 - Monstrous
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