If you find anything by chance it is chance only

You might consider it a quirk of mathematics

The music of maths- but it is not -as the music

Is replaced by a vacancy- unlikely to be repeated

Yesterday on a street in Folkestone I found a posy

A small posy of mixed dry flowers bound in twine

A thistle daisies and a carnation frozen in decay

But at the their most beautiful- abandoned on a path

To my surprise they smelt heavily of lemons

I have since settled them in a small blue vase

And wonder frequently of their mysterious journey