thanks, an amusing idea to kick around
EH?
My destiny was distant,
Occluded by a mist,
Or else I'd had a skinful
At Cohen's Irish Inn.
I felt I was repeating
A painting by Magritte.
No sentiment came easy;
I'd lost my loving squeeze.
I turned to travel homewards,
But did I live in Rome?
Much more likely-seeming
I inhabited a dream.
Last edited by basil ransome-davies; 10-06-2010 at 04:04 AM.
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