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It was Winter of ’61, and we
walked in our wellies
oblivious to the cold
to the farm for eggs for your Mother’s larder.

My Mother bought hers at the corner shop
so I imagined that I was in the countryside.
And my borrowed wellies
which were your sister’s
felt unfamiliar.

I always wore stilettos,
with pointed toes because
of my fashion-consciousness.

I was a young, naïve teenager
in love with life and
in love with you.

The snow was deep.
The cold bit my cheeks
and made my eyes water and
I hoped my mascara wouldn’t run.

My borrowed wellies sank into the slushy ground
every time you stopped
to kiss me.

I don’t recall getting back
to your Mother’s house but
I do remember that walk.

Seemed the stars shone
down upon us but
it was daylight
so that couldn’t have been so

But my recollection tells me

Written by: Dorinda MacDowell, UK

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