I till the furrows of the page
By hand; the thought machine
On overdrive, so till I must,
If I'm to sleep serene.
...
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To meet a genuine extravert can be really exhilarating. One old friend called Irene always dressed outrageously and acted in the grand manner. I christened her the Duchess of the Fylde. Her girlfriend was much more modest. Irene's parties were great but once she said to me at one of these: I don't really approve of these mixed grills, darling but I make an exception in your case, Tom. I felt really pleased and your poem gives me a similar feeling of joy
Wonderful work. Draws the reader completely in. Don't stop writing! Thx for posting for us. : -)))
Thanks ever so much Wayne.