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Cradle To Grave

She painfully drew to her full height
clutching a Zimmer frame.
Spoke softly, a name,
“John Fitzsimmon’s,
Head of Obstetrics,
Royal Infirmary ‘46.
Ask him. He pulled you out,
whirled you round ,
slapped you into this world,
performed his magic trick,
shouting “Breathe you bugger, quick.”
Of which you would have
known nothing save
one brief feeling of spinning
through air,
on the way back
to oblivion and dark earth.
Years fall far away,
and if by chance his skilled hands
walked through this room,
I’d shake him by his shoulders,
meet unflinching his vacant stare,
and thank him while he gazed
from far beyond the grave.

14 Nov 10

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 — unknown

love the last stanza--good stuff.

love L9.
it's all good, really.
 — mandolyn

Dear Boring

I recommend a brisk walk two pounds of laxatives a nipple jiggle cartwheel and a suppository, provided that you can spell it right and you will then know what boredom really is you arse faced bastard

Larry arse faced bastard Lark
 — larrylark

Hi mandolyn

Thank you for your continuing support . I feel i could truss you with my life

Larry untrustworthy Lark
 — larrylark