The message responded to,
the seed of panic begins to grow
old faces from the past
you haven’t seen for years
Contact – thin on the ground
Telephone – no obvious sound
haven’t seen many of them around
feeling like a lost and found
As day grows near – you wander more
what you want to be there for ?
ghosts of past – appear no end
enough to drive you round the bend
You go to the place – and to your surprise
a friendly face – you’re recognised
nerves begin to ease a while
as old chums welcome you with a smile
The Inkwell 
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