Clear water, in silvery tin dishes
dented as ping pong balls:
a lemon juice tinge of the staling light is in them;
they've a faint lid of dust.
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one beside each bowl,
and the rags are on their bits of hooked wire.
The cars continue,
but few people walk here between the lunch shed..a very fine poem. tony
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one beside each bowl, and the rags are on their bits of hooked wire. The cars continue, but few people walk here between the lunch shed..a very fine poem. tony