Oberon
there was a bank
where the wild-thyme blew
not a hole in a wall
and a cash-point queue
and there was a breeze
and the murmur of bees
not the blast of exhausts
and the throb of c.cs.
and he'd likened his queen
to a fragrance of air
not a fella in drag
with rouge in his hair
so magique his lifestyle
it shimmers excess
he's got limitless credit
American Express
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
Added by Poetry Lover
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