Paul Gerard Reed


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The Old House

I went back to the old house last night
The house where I was born
Things were just the way they used to be
The ‘Scarlet Climber' still on the thorn

I cut the grass and measured each step
Along the winding stripes, dark green and pale
Felt the softness beneath my feet
Felt the scythe in my hand to flail

[Hata Bildir]