I sit on a bench of bunched thoughts, a leaf whispers in my ears, the sight of swaying nettles plays a tune gives a banging smell can smells bang perhaps….dragging me back to school boy thoughts i just might…or perhaps….float down the road..1964 was fifty years ago so many mega celebrations coast through the media..
But what of tiny me..yes i whisper to myself…in my tiny leaf on the wind where am i blowing too….perhaps yes perhaps..so goeth for old Hugh….
