BLACK TEA

I must be thirsty, all the titles refer to tea lately.
A revised poem again this post.
You can read the original here.

House Clearance

The enormity of it all just stops you

dead in your tracks,

one long life lived

and here you are in the hallway

wondering where to start,

wishing it were simply a woollen jumper

with one loose thread you could unpick.

Of course, it’s not that easy

so you walk through the rooms,

upstairs then down,

make a cup of tea

sit at the kitchen table

drink it black,

because the milk has gone off.

The last three lines have been altered to allow the poem to breathe.
Thanks to Paul Mortimer.
I'm working on a poem at the moment but I'm not ready to show it to anyone. Watch this space.

I've just discovered an hour long set by Arthur Lee and Love at 2003 Glastonbury Festival [or Pilton, as those of us who have lived in Somerset refer to it].
Here's the whole show.

Until next time.