August 24, 2019

Micawber Street

Micawber Street

The faith that the inert have in tomorrow,

the hope that soothes the sorrow.

And the moments lived like sentences of shame.

Then take me to the wrecking yard and smash me into

pieces and scatter me upon the cobbled streets.

So strong boots can do the grinding, the casual refining

and the dustman’s brush can sweep me of my feet.

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