Ron Yeats
¶ 1
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Ron Yeats
Waits,
Looks into the distance,
Sends a wave of red
To break
On some poor beach.
Pounding rocks with doubt
This tide never goes out,
Even defies the pull of the moon
And the Fates,
Borne out harsh and cruel,
Twist but ultimately fail
And do not resist the Colossus
Of Liverpool,
Ron Yeats
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