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Published: 6-Feb-2013
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In Cordoba
there was a beautiful boy...
He rarely went out alone. Only once
I watched him venture
into my garden - he left
his timid footprints
in the path's yellow dust.
In Cordoba
there was a beautiful boy
but after that day, he was bathed
every morning - I would hear his mother
lifting and pouring the water - every evening.
She hated that yellow dust.
In Cordoba
there was a beautiful boy
but neither honey nor apricots
could again entice his small clean feet
to his neighbour's table -
where waiting cups sat on shadows,
in a garden in Cordoba.
Meg
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