Tuesday, 26 January 2010


Whatever time of year

Andrew never reads a book

except for picking letters

around food.

Despite this, he seems happy;

pokes his brothers,

drinks lemonade.

He hasn’t places to go

being undeniably here

as long as it’s a little familiar,

never lost

because he connects,

nudges and

makes people happen.

1 comment:

  1. A poem full of consideration and though.