This poem is taken from Poetry Nation 4 Number 4, 1975.Two Poems
Me peeling away at a loose end of bark,
these silver birches, there a stunted one,
a run of silver paint on cross-grained wood,
and underfoot the usual dumping ground.
That childish hope, when this was more a park,
to peel some silver off and catch the sun
or make a mirror. Never any good.
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are not a subscriber and would like to enjoy the 245 issues containing over 9,800 poems, articles, reports, interviews and reviews, why not subscribe to the website today?