The Do

The Do
i.m. Mike Pentelow

We all turned up,
we wept, we laughed,

we drank and ate
our fill of you.

Your ghost was here,
we felt it strong;

no one can quite
believe you're gone.

The sky lit up
above the Tower,

across the lands

sat up, noticed
something wrong;

a falter in our
strongest voice,

a missing note,
a poorer song.

We're out of tune
now you are gone.
Categorized as Licks

By Arthur Richardson

Very part time poem maker. Retired from paid work.

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