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        A Poem

by Robert William Foot OBE



There
       with no fear and smiling face,
I've found Dickens's 'far, far better place'.
Released from any harm I've done,
Through conscience clear and others' tongue.

First I'll find my Grandad, late,
Waiting for me at the turnstyle gate.
And he'll be with the William Foots,
Who'll know me though I'm out of turn.
They'll meet a man with tales to tell,
But one, I hope, that listens well.

Here,
       Talk not of battles bravely fought
It's love, not war, that I have sought.
And ought, but rights, to have given up,
Until, saved, I learned to like myself.
Love others next, an awesome wealth.
And last, hardest and most rewarding of all,
To let myself be loved by you.

To you that know me, this will not shock,
Look through me now, like Brighton Rock,
Not one word there, not two, nor three
But more,
        For as I die,
                This is me



     'Rob and Kath Foot'

 

 

 

 

 

 

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