I woke up this morning with a few words of poetry in my head.
'There is sweet music here,
That softer falls
Than petals from blown roses
On the grass.'
What on earth was I dreaming about, that the residual memory was about blown roses? I know the quotation comes from a poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson and I probably learned it at Gwynneville Primary School where Mr Fuller was a great fan of Tennyson but this morning I can't even remember whether I've taken my tablets.
I realise the problem. My head is so full of stuff I learnt over seventy years ago that there's no room left for what I need to know today.
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