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Rusting Rocket-Ships
They wait in hopeful silence
Perched by the shrub-shrouded stands
Like little ladybugs in forgotten grass
Our childhood rocket-ships
Their colour spent like currency
On interstellar adventures
Until they stood bare and bruised
And glowed red with dreams
Their outer hulls boast of hungry rust
Built up over reckless rainy evenings
That dried up fleetingly
As rockets turned to racquets to Rubik’s
The rocket-ships seem weak now
Their rust taunting the longing eyes
That bulge and strain to see
Rusted bicycles in untrimmed grass
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