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Dr Who?

Elegy for D. L.

Visible to anyone in the world

You with the broken National Health specs

Patched up with sticking plaster.

And your minuscule handwriting

Micrographia it’s called.

In the summer we’d escape through your bedroom window

Onto the flat roof beyond.

And talk there for ages.

But now I shall never see you again.

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Hi Richard,

This little poem touched my heart about the loss of a friend. I could just picture everything you described about your friend.