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I read somewhere there's a smart *** born every twelve seconds
& one truly sensitive person
every sixty.
No wonder there's so much insecurity around,
it's boundless.
It's not always humor.
I know darling,
you're as warm to the touch
as I am,
alone in the dark,
with me here,
& you there,
we're both burning up.
You cannot fight the tribes,
their bitterness lasts for centuries,
they will wear you out
& cut off heads
to prove their point.
When the clouds web a raven moon
His thirsty eyes your eyes may meet
And unless your senses frigidly swoon
Can hear may I have tea and biscuit!

The hungry seeker is ever on roam
Carrying in winds his heavy sighs
With none to call his own and home
Except night’s stray passersby!

If you stop some moments with him
Can hear war stories and his bravery
In soldier’s pride his eyes still gleam
His eyes are wet when speaks of Annie!

He roams the night till the moon is veiled
His home is here this earth his heaven
Loving to chat with the souls strong willed
About Annie who he left at forty seven!
Owen Tomkinson was a British soldier who died of cholera in the northern Indian state of Bihar in 1906. People around the area of his grave believe that his ghost stops residents and passersby and demands tea and biscuit. The epitaph on his grave reads 'In loving memory of Owen, The dearly loved husband of Annie Tomkinson who died on 19 September 1906, aged at 47 years'.
Speak few, listen more
To understand a lot
As only a few will explain
 Sep 2014 Karen Newell
nivek
Beer and Barbie
sizzling meat and sunburn
Stars and late night aeroplanes
Laughter and jest
Some serious stuff kept lighthearted
More beer more meat
more laughter
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