A London poem, kind of, by Britta Benson

I’m in London with my son again. Same procedure as every year… He’s sixteen now. I looked back at the poem I wrote last year, upon our arrival. Here’s an edited version of it. A London Poem, kind of Early morning coffee with my son. Victoria, and a long chat, staring out of windows, watchingContinue reading “A London poem, kind of, by Britta Benson”

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