The Thames near its mouth,
Marshland mostly,
And a dock,
Not for the ship,
Just a low wooden pier,
An electric light
Above it on a pole,
Nearby a small lone house
Its windows glowing yellow
In the predawn dark –
Years later,
But earlier in the a.m.
A Georgia
A man in shirtsleeves
Working at a wooden table,
And further down the track
A tree of unknown species
Frothed with blossom
Pale and ghostly
In the streetlamp glow.
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