Phil Brown -  journalist . writer . poet

Phil Brown

journalist . writer . poet

articles . books . poems


by Phil Brown


I haunted her garden
Like a memory ...

Seeking her scent
Or just a glimpse.

She, the Chinese Princess,
Wafts daily around the shrubbery.

I am an ornament, bewitched.

All this was a thousand years ago.

Now she has a beard
And goes on crutches, feebly.

Her skin has withered,
Her hands are lizard hands.

And I am a stone
Crouched in recollection
By the-pool of her forgetfulness.


by Phil Brown

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