O my Luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
O I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only Luve!
And fare thee weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile!
Sending out postcards to people who return them to me with a story or poem on it
Thursday 4 July 2019
Thursday 6 June 2019
A poem for the future by Tilda
She has long hair and wears
Suede but her social appetite
Won't fill her days.
A lark sings, skies split but she
Won't ever get to see it.
Memories of a past because her
Present isn't present.
Monuments have moved with her
Phone in her back pocket.
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