Poem: In A House On Windmill Hills.

In A House On Windmill Hills.

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Only the fragment of a tune

Can open up the doors

Of buried memories

And take you back to times

You thought were long forgotten

In the noisiness of years.

But still we sit, drinking pop

In a messy living room

Where we first became aware

That boys were only boys,

And Cliff Richard sang

That he had got himself

A real life living doll.

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