The willow in the wind stands tall
I sit beneath and drink my beer
While down below the river wall
The Thames, is at low tide.
Judge Jeffreys used to drink in here
His portrait is inside
The sun shines as it ever shone
And sitting near to me
An old man tells a younger one
About his family tree.
We need illusions to deploy
For truth brings` no security
The tragic heroines of Troy
Were not consoled for loss
And walking down the pelican stairs,
Passing the green moss
And slippery slime
I think this time
On the wisdom of immaturity.
Two men are digging in the mire
Not for work but pleasure
Some yards apart each stands alone.
As they reveal when I enquire,
One wants to find a pretty stone,
The other’s seeking treasure.
And nearby Tim
Who was born in Wales
When I visited him
On a later day
Said he’s found many old ships nails
And is planning to sell them on ebay.
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