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Thursday 28 January 2016


‘Ride my golden horses,’
the barker’s voice rang out
harsh above the hurdy-gurdy.
‘Thr’pence a ride, Missy.’
‘Please, Granddad, please,’
we begged.

Then we were up,
spun round, shrieking,
delighted, dazzled
as Granddad leaned
heavily upon his walking-stick
and smiled …

I’m the watcher now
and see the children find
those golden horses

©  Gill Dunstan
All rights reserved

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