In Which a Conversation Commences
Magwitch, the bull-terrier, greets me
At the door, stub-tail wagging, a grin,
If that is possible, on his questionably
Lovable puss. Estella, charming as always:
Come in, and in I come, flowers in hand.
She receives the flowers graciously, takes
My gloves, scarf, hat, wrap, and soon
We are ensconced in the inner-warmth
Of the sanctum sanctorum, that is to say
The living room, fire crackling in the hearth,
Lusters aglow. Pip pours two whiskies
And a dry sherry, Magwitch settles himself
Before the fire, sighs. Pip hands me a whiskey,
Stella, her sherry. Stella, I say, your home is
Poetry by jim
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Written on 2021-07-06 at 14:39
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