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All The Words To There is
something About a
Sunday morning, A lady
sipping secrets, Another
dressed in exotic Talking
vanilla perfume That makes
her clothes all But
disappear, The fly
fisherman without A hook
demonstrating Casting at
centre court, Don the
retired dude Laughing
to himself, Seemingly
satisfied with The
emptiness of the mall, KPLU jazz
romancing Every
corner, I’m
thinking surreal when The Lady
with the Imaginary
lovers comes Dancing in
my mind, Dancing to
a song I can’t
catch all the words to.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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