Dried islands of paint crumble under my feet
blue walls shed decades, peeling off the past.
Fragments of weather beaten wall are scattered
upon the deserted dance floor. The only sound
...
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A wonderful and whistful piece Vincent. The overall feel is one of sadness yet the reader should take joy in the fact that this is so well written.
Measured melancholic memory. A wistful write indeed Vincent. Certainly captured Morecambe.
Loved your first write best Vincent, so have commented on that one. Both good but that's my preference. Love Ernestine XXX