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,

communists
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.
Published
Categorized as Licks

By Arthur Richardson

Very part time poem maker. Retired from paid work.

Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: