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Discussion in 'Macclesfield' started by x, Jan 31, 2011.
they call me zak from macc
even with my dodgy back
and heaven knows
home is a place called moss rose
Well if this site is anything to go by, I won't be expecting many away fans on Saturday.
why u editing all your material @Saints_Alive
My favourite ever poem:
The sparrow dips in his wheel-rut bath,
The sun grows passionate-eyed,
And boils the dew to smoke by the paddock-path;
As strenuously we stride, —
Five of us; dark He, fair He, dark She, fair She, I,
All beating by.
The air is shaken, the high-road hot,
Shadowless swoons the day,
The greens are sobered and cattle at rest; but not
We on our urgent way, —
Four of us; fair She, dark She, fair He, I, are there,
But one - elsewhere.
Autumn moulds the hard fruit mellow,
And forward still we press
Through moors, briar-meshed plantations, clay-pits yellow,
As in the spring hours - yes,
Three of us; fair He, fair She, I, as heretofore,
But - fallen one more.
The leaf drops: earthworms draw it in
At night-time noiselessly,
The fingers of birch and beech are skeleton-thin
And yet on the beat are we, —
Two of us; fair She, I. But no more left to go
The track we know.
Icicles tag the church-aisle leads,
The flag-rope gibbers hoarse,
The home-bound foot-folk wrap their snow-flaked heads,
Yet I still stalk the course —
One of us..... Dark and fair He, dark and fair She, gone:
The rest - anon.
Those - dying then,
knew where they went-
They went to God's right hand-
That hand is amputated now
And God cannot be found-
The abdication of Belief
Makes the Behaviour small-
Better an ignis fatous
Than no illume at all-
Here I Sit Broken Hearted
Paid a Penny, and Only Farted.....