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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 02-June 14:14:21 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 32584
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => London
[time] => 2004-01-24 15:15:29
[hometext] => Till death do us part
[bodytext] => What sweet word of divine grace Should fall now upon this face? What light shall I see shine And hold the sparkle of words divine What ground is this if I should fall? The sweet green grass of London hall The gate to the chapels that tower high That pierce the blue where none dare fly The ashen streets of sweet ballet Holds the love of this sweet day. No children laugh or play this day The once blue sky is dead gray The fires burn as if from hell No sound is heard save the bell The last towel rung alas is twelve Upon the streets the echoes dwell. This is where this sad tell ends Upon the ash among the my sins This is the ground were I fall Upon the streets of London hall [comments] => 2 [counter] => 188 [topic] => 25 [informant] => shadow [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => MiscPoems )
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