The frailest butterfly,
I do not have the strength
to wait for these lights to change from red to gold to green.
The pitter-patter of rain.

all at once I know you:
I know our two bedroom flat and our television license.
I know our children and their children,
Our legacy and legend painted on wet tarmac at a quarter to one.

Even now my fingertips freeze,
Though the tarmac is since dry
And stepping into rivers stay the same,
Other and others go.


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