I' ve read,
that back in his early
days in
London,
he used to sit in a teahouse
near Waterlow Park
in Highgate (not the
rich part of Highgate)
and write.
Moments of peace at the beginning of a great career.
I used to do the same.
Write.
Write.
Not knowing he was right there, decades earlier.
Somewhere
I must have those poems.
Somewhere
buried under
papers and more
poems.
That he also will never be able to
read.
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