It's one of those columns grey and pinstriped
Pale and desperate yet exuding a certain grace
with deeper lines than an old man's face
bulging sections to one single umbrella canopy
Glistening and rustling frond leaves jumping, galloping
inviting the tricky breeze up for a cup of tangle
Just a stones throw from a local jungle
and along the frond where parrots dare
Is where the sun puts in most of it's care
Is where two palms touch to make a prayer
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