A Wreath Never Given  - Marc Day

Some of my poetry from the mid-to-late eighties is very painful for me to read; I can't really appraise it very well as a result. This is one I can appreciate for itself.

Burnt out rhyme of sweet December
Floats in time to heal the wound of day
Reach to meet the line of longing
Rough and neat to mend a world of play
Taking out the venom of the sound
And turning round to find the way

Rich Harding, 1987 (26th January)