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Five Goslings

by simon lucan

Fledging at the speed of light

They patter like tap-dancers

Banqueting on chick-crumb

 

Soon, stately as Aldermen, and

Ripping at grass like tigers

They'll face into the rain

 

Abruptly the salad days will end

No more feinting at the post-man

Come Christmas they'll hiss in vain

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Wednesday 29th April 2020 11:19 am

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