Touched on the Raw (George’s Bay, St Helens) “That’s a flash hat mate, a bit Too poncy for my taste,” he sneered At my Czech felt, broad-brimmed high-crowned Kobulka with a speckled tuft Of feather sewn into the band For extra élan, as I strolled One weekend round the bay on what Here passes for a promenade. The rush of blood as colour would Have gone well with my brown headpiece As I slew “Oz”, unworthy of “Oswald”, with a chilling riposte, In thought at least, as on I went, Too slow and cowardly then…
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