Marriage, Labour, Prison and Death

There is metal in all these things

Rings, machines and bars

My repertoire of memories

Played on a guitar

 

The first fret at the altar

Promise pictured ear to ear

A Spring ceremony

“We are all gathered here”

 

The second fret discordant

From the key diverts

Fingers getting calloused

From being overworked

 

The third is shadow and mistake

In the shape of Henry Lee

The sentence already sowed

By the seeds of jealousy

 

The fourth and final fret

Meant nothing to a soul

I could never fill the spaces

As the soil did the hole

 

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