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© Nicholas Vosper 2003 |
In my own time. Okay maybe not. On work time, my boys time, her time. If I could make Her understand I would, but, she never will She sees only neglect, feels nothing but exasperation at my clumsiness. My concentration adrift elsewhere. I'm here in body, but my mind wanders, roams nomadic in search of something. A phrase, a line, just a single, solitary, elusive word, and, if lucky a poem, The poem, of all poems. She doesn't understand this, she never will. |