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Lines
She would disappear
Quietly in her way
If she recognized
Herself in a line,
Perhaps it was the
Inherent shyness
Of her sign,
Or maybe nothing
To do with the
Words at all,
Just one of those
Unexplained coincidences
That fall from somewhere
And leave you pondering,
Picking at random thoughts
And ideas and then,
Although we’ve never
Tucked between the sheets
Or smiled over cappuccinos,
Another line mystically
Flows through to paper.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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