Where the Wildbloods are

Someone (we shall call him Mr Anon) has just emailed me this, in response to my Pome Competition post...




In the forest of the night, faint glimmers of a frail light
And there, illuminated by -
A hunched back, a bloodshed eye belonging to
A desperate soul
Bereft of hope, deprived of goals
Who's driven on by cold and fear of
Falling short of Munby’s grade
Laid out in reams of harsh PDs
Prolix judgements and decrees
‘What appalling lapse I made (she shrieks)
To fund my life from Legal Aid’.

Anon, 2016.

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