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Near The End Of The Day
When the street starts
To slow down to almost
Quiet,
Retail clerks itching
To head into what’s
Left of the week-end,
The odd couple strolling
Aimlessly hand in hand,
The seagull landing softly
On the roof peeking over
The edge like a sniper,
I don’t know why some birds
Seem to mysteriously appear
At this time of day,
Perhaps it’s the same reason
Why I think about you
As the day winds down,
Of course the thoughts
Are a mixed bag of emotions
Straddling time, time zones,
And yes, even dimensions
As I struggle to make sense
Of it all near the end of the day.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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