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Reflection
In the reflection of the window
I saw him passing by,
With a steely sort of swagger
A no look in his eye,
His bike was in the alley
A noisy Harley kind,
The decals on his denim
Said just you never mind,
Don’t know where he was going
But it wasn’t feeling good,
Sometimes words are never spoken
Yet things are understood.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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