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"Dear Sarah" & "Years of Plenty" by Andrew Senior

Dear Sarah

Imagine a world where you would have been


where these lines do not exist.

Standing on my Poynders Road,

with a lump in my throat, each time I hear.

Most of us aren’t like that

is no counter at all, but stupidly I imagine it

a plea; the sound of footsteps

gathering pace, running

to where none of us are like that.

A simple matter of humanity, stagnant within.

A place where all the vileness has died.

Dare to take

the first step


Years of Plenty

Strange the sadness lingering.

A shadow of pain

is not pain itself.

The shape of me

fits perfectly in the memory.

I never cried

though not for want of tears.

Rather fear of the wretched exposure.

An error in approach, perhaps.

Heavier, yet carried,

you felt out the shape of me,

traced my every step

through the unlit,

reforging, reshaping, time

and time over,

all the way

to the rising edge

of our years of plenty.

Andrew is a writer of poetry and short fiction based in Sheffield, UK. You can see Andrew’s published work at:

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