It was a day
It was a day when planes flew low in the sky
a beautiful day that tasted of sandalwood
a day for a busker tapping on a xylophone
the low sound trailing me through the streets
it was a day to take a name like Elizabeth
a day for sewing up a day like no other
and tucking it into a warm pocket.
I wrote this poem at Helen Cadbury's writing workshop at The Little Festival of Everything.
Photo taken by Chris in St. Ives.
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