A wind from the steppes blew through the walls of the Square Tower -
I could smell wood smoke from the chimneys of nameless towns - young men flew sighing over roof tops -
The girl playing a tender violin invited us to dance -
I sat with Anne, waiting for Elena -
The poets had given her their words -
Now the words were returned, each word a gift, beautiful and strange -
20.30
Sunday 23 November 2015
The Square Tower
Old Portsmouth
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