November 5, 2018

We amble.  Him, shuffling on furry paw,

And with ancestral motive, sniffs the air,

For mammoths, sabre-tooths, chips left on the floor,

Me, sometimes I hardly need to be there.

Apart from watching out for bus and speeding car,

To check for green men, not much for me to do,

O...

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© 2018 James Morgan Nash - Writer and Poet - Leeds, West Yorkshire, United Kingdom - james@jamesnash.co.uk 

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