November

The clocks have gone back
and we’ve lost an hour at night.
We come home in the dark now
instead of the light.

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Grantchester, Oh Grantchester

With apologies to Rupert Brooke

Just now the lilacs aren’t in bloom
all before his little room,
and from his flower beds I think
have gone the carnation, and the pink,
and in his borders well I know
poppies and pansies no longer blow.

Grantchester, oh Grantchester!
There should be peace and quiet there.
Rupert Brooke would have a fit
if he went back to visit it.
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