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A Discovery in Wandsworth

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Whilst turnin’ aht me attic
A faded photograph
Flutters to the floorboards.
I ’ears me nephew laugh:

“An’ who the devil’s this, then,
I niver would have guessed!
That’s you, nah, uncle ain’t it?
But whoo’s this, ‘alf-undressed?”

I stuff it in me pocket,
(How strong old passions grip!)
Me loins and ticker surgin’,
A finger to me lip.

Our eyes creep to the kitchen
Two floors beneaf: “It’s wise
To hask a man no questions,
To save from ’earin’ lies.”

He shrugs a bony shoulder
As we go dahn for tea.
He’s starin’ ’ard at aunty,
But niver looks at me!