Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
0395 Sunset Boulevard
I loved your stories of the old times -
the endless journeys of the band bus,
Judy with her black-eyed girl,
the first action at each hotel
the drawer taken from the chest,
you laid in it; the band singer filling in
between the famous stars; knowing
the bridges between the famous verses
which singers seem to love so much
as if they're nearer private lives
of songwriters who have lives;
the visits to Stan Laurel, modest,
bright-eyed, pining for his Oliver..
the glittering night-time life
of wartime, almost-still-1930s
of the Hollywood refugees;
told by the not-quite-famous who
performed in front of the famous;
the time when thanks to you
I spoke to Gloria Swanson on the phone..
I hear the footsteps of the high-heeled life;
I smell the perfumes now no longer made.
I thank you for all these and more.
And if some of them
were not quite true,
then thank you for the care
with which you told them;
true dreams - dreamed truth.
poem
by
Michael Shepherd
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black