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Got The T-Shirt: The Old Gates

A pair of old wrought iron gates serve as sad reminders of happier times in this poem by Steph Spiers.

Scrap metal. Lying in the hedge. Skeletal.
Wrought iron. Wider than a manís height.
A resource for canine confinement:
dog laughed and jumped over
from a sit. Long gone now.
Hard to paint. Too many curls and curlicues.
Airforce blue. Sprayed. Made such a mess.
more on the concrete and the broad
leaves than on the uprights.
Sad reminders of happier times.
Given away: saved from landfill
to start a new life with a young family
to keep their dog in apparently . . .

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To read more of Steph's words please click on http://www.openwriting.com/archives/got_the_tshirt/

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