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No Feedback On A Poem ©

Frank E Gibbard
London, England

I wrote a poem for the tube station man
Who sold flowers in wind and rain
Cheerfully at his outdoor stand
Never seeming ever to complain.
He was retiring after so many years
Everyone knew him as Harry,
We’d used him for events of joy or tears
For those we’d lose, for those about to marry.

Hearing of his leaving I wanted to show him
Appreciation in a personal poem
I wrote it out all neat on a fancy card
Signed by me “your local bard”.
Feeling sure he would read my every word,
I took my leave of this tough old bird.

When I next saw my weathered friend
We had a lengthy chat but just before its end
I asked him casually: “did you read my card?”
“No I didn’t.” said he, and I swallowed hard.
To say the least my pride was shattered
Though plainly to Harry it hadn’t mattered.
Not all my poems are that well read
But this one was better left unsaid.

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