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I don't pretend to be a Keats
or a Shelley or a Shakespeare—rhymes
just pop into my head sometimes, and
I scribble them down on whatever
piece of paper comes to hand. 
It's fun and it's just for me, but now and
then, people ask to read what
I have written. 

 

PRIDE

A pride of lions, sheltering under a tree.
One of them stares, straight at me.
He walks towards me amber eyed,
I stand transfixed
Petrified!

He looks at me and turns his back.
Walking away, along the track.
I was not tasty, that’s plain to see.
How dare he turn his back on me!

© Mary Davies

Other Poems

Taxpayer's Lament
Why?FearCourage
Pride
BabiesMemories
Kiss
Uncertainty
Busy Bee
Colour
Painted Lady

 

 

   All words and pictures on these pages © 2014 Mary Davies, Tewkesbury, UK  

 

 

 

 

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