Friday, 14 May 2010

WALKABOUTSVERSE 191 OF 230

Poem 191 of 230:  WEATHERED PIPES…SOMEWHERE - WINTER 2001/2

As we spun slowly through a warmer winter-night,
    Some birds sung sweetly - out of my sight;
And then, finally returned to the waiting sun,
    The turned bathtub-taps soon ceased to run!

(C) David Franks 2003