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Left Hanging

So June was not the end of May, it seems,
At least in that she has not yet resign'd.
(I write this Friday morn, so if she deems,
The time is right, this verse will be behind).
By this point I confess I'm not surprised:
Such presumption should not go unpunish'd,
So great a lead to be so vapourised
Will happen if our confidence is banish'd.
But Jezza celebrates this as a win,
And quite for why I too don't understand
Theresa May is still in Number Ten
He still has not the seats to play his hand,
Above all, let us spare a thought for Nick:
Of all our hearts he may still take his picks.


The time has come to say goodbye to friends
Whom I have known for these three passing years.
How is it then, so many odds and ends
Remain unknown about these closest peers?
I do not know about those parts of life
That made them who they came to be right now.
What of school, and adolescent strife,
The things that made them laugh, or cry, or vow?
Instead these reinvented selves I met,
That nipped and tucked the past, and traits, away
And may in time fresh images beget
When life outside these walls begins to play.
How can I say quite who I know, or why?
When all will shift and bend to meet the eye?

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