Once in a pond where the ripples caved in and the mill closed down
leaving only a shabby old dressing gown to cover its bare bones,
I sat and shaved two whiskers off old Father Time,
(One for sorrow, one for the painting of the day after tomorrow)
It is so with sadness
with this artwork of a world that spins into madness.
Now a refuge for refugees and those looking for a roof over their beds,
these out of the way places reminding me of those in your face places that we all try to escape from.
© 2016, John Smallshaw.