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I sit and I look,

inspiration t’ cook.

Poetry subject,

in my little book.

Scanned all around

for something to see.

Something of interest,

to set my pen free.

Blankly I look round, 

it then caught my eye.

A – foreign language,

in printed black dye.

Box made of cardboard

that once did hold fruit.

Having a move round,

by bloke in a suit.

Fruit came from Egypt,

to sell at this store.

Box is well traveled, 

But wait – there is more.

Box was made elsewhere,

Italy the start.

I shop in England,

now think of my part.

I will recycle,

to think myself green.

This sent to China,

reports one has seen.

How many miles,

does a box clock?

Time bomb a ticking.

Tic Toc,

Tic Toc,

Tic; Toc.

A § M 


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