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