The Wannabe poet

Rhododendrons in Kippax

I walk from the gas works and I think, rhododendrons in Kippax.

The number 19 bus comes over the bridge and I think, sherbet bon bons!
Such beauty is overwhelming, like the smell of diesel on the A12 when a lorry has broken down in the fast lane during a snowstorm, 
or the sweet wafting of the Glastonbury urinals.

And I ponder, what if Shakespeare went to America?
“Shall I compare Thee to a Chevrolet?” 

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