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Making Sense-Reflections of Branwell Bronte.

“None know the half of it.”
“Of what sir? Speak.”
“It…it,” he repeated,
winked and tweaked his pitted nose.
“It’s sure as our fate
that men face a host of disasters,
While striving to remain their own masters.”
“I’ll drink everlastingly to that.”
“Only heaven knows the mould where we’ll be cast.”
More rum and ale were chalked.
He owed every inn and tavern
for miles around without means to repay
save talk as to his future prospects
which already lay wrecked beyond this dim lit place.
Conviviality began to drag
slowly taking time away.
Night like ourselves had staggered through the door
and overstayed, playing among shadows on the wall
“One last drink”, and a toast to go with it.
Till we meet once more.”
He steadied himself and then paused.
“Thank the Lord for lives we’ve led.
If only I could……..” he bowed his head,
once more reached to tweak his nose
and not finding it, fell straight upon the floor.

5 Sep 18

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Brovo well penned!! This Poem reminds of Robert Herrick's work. Here is an example if you are not familiar

by Robert Herrick

SO good luck came, and on my roof did light,
Like noiseless snow, or as the dew of night :
Not all at once, but gently, as the trees
Are by the sunbeams tickled by degrees.
 — Mattmckeown

Thanks for the comment Mattmckeown I will certainly look  Robert Herrick up.

Larry Bronte boy Lark
 — larrylark