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Passing Through
So the sun
Has gone
The Clouds
Are in
The buses running
Empty,
Pondering
A goddess’s quest
For happiness
When a crow,
A solitary sentry,
Lands on the
Lighthouse post,
Reads from a
Wrinkled frazzled feather,
For a bit of raisin bread
I’ll explain the dead,
Why such sad and lonely
Ladies are passing
Through your life.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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