Things Fall Apart by Sarah Watkinson

When Empire’s reverberations died away
the inheritors came out and looked around.
Unburdened, the nation rediscovered play:
a hall for festivals, a merry-go-round.

We had our jolly uncle here to stay.
He spoiled us rotten. He had lots to spend.
Red’s for fizzy drinks, not flags, he’d say,
and so our ceremony of innocence is drowned.

We have shared our poems on Jo Bell’s 52. I am a relative newcomer to poetry, which I started through the Oxford Diploma in Creative Writing with Jenny Lewis. My poems have appeared in Ink, Sweat and Tears, The Stare’s Nest, Nutshells and Nuggets and in small magazines, and I have been successful in three competitions. I am a member of the Hall Writer’s Forum.

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