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| Roger McGough |
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| The fallen birdman | ||||
| The oldman in the cripplechair Died in transit through the air And slopped into the road. The driver of the lethallorry Trembled out and cried: “I’m sorry, But his own fault.” Humans snuggled round the mess In masochistic tenderness As raindrops danced in his womb. … But something else obsessed my brain, The canvas, twisted steel and cane, His chair, spreadeagled in the rain, Like a fallen birdman. |
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