Tonight
They say
A winning ticket
Could be worth
One
hundred
and ten
million.
All those
Zeroes:
Seven wondering mouths agape;
Seven whistles of disbelief
Or one long ecstatic moan.
But even such incontinent
And wishful-thinking-weighted wealth
Could not buy me
A twenty-fifth hour, a second self,
An easy heart, a quiet mind,
A single cubic inch of open sky.
And when I smell the new-turned soil
And the forest after rain;
Eavesdrop on river’s chatter
And the whisperings of the sea
Watch the buzzard circling high above the dark-browed wood
Hear flute-notes ring like silver bells
Feel her soft hand enclosed in mine
And catch a certain smile
I don’t need a string of numbers
Spat out by some cold machine
To tell me I’m in luck.
Gonecycling (again) 
Perfect! Xx
Thank you!
(And no, I haven’t bought a ticket. Well, not yet anyway. Seems rude not to, really.)
N.xx
I wouldnt even know how to buy one!! I think there are different ones, no idea! I would feel rather stupid asking so Im happy to remain “poor” ! 🙂
Poverty is the best policy, I agree. What you don’t have you don’t miss. And honestly – what would I (or anyone else for that matter) do with £110,000,000?
N.xx
That much money would scare me!
I think Ive been extravagent because Ive just bought some placemats I dont really need! 🙂 x
Ah, bravo!
Good poem! I would not mind winning a lotery 🙂 live a good life and share. But the odds are minimum. xx