Oh god, I can hear you say not another fucking poem,
A brave friend, her name, Elizabeth,
sitting, immobile and trapped in her chair,
awaiting a call from a dispassionate death,
her flame still flickers for those who care.
her radiant sands seem to be falling fast,
as she and slumbers, like a fairy princess,
remembering of a funny life that is no more,
now living as if this curse was only a dream.
One day she will run and skip ounce again,
flying across endless sands with bare feet,
the sun warming her back,
a child ounce more, forever.
Speaking in breathless whispers," All men are wankers,
if they say they're not, they are lying tossers."
A smile plays on those tragic lips,
a smile that brings only tears to my heart.
Duncan
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