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Saintly Soul
She doesn’t read the papers
Is saddened by the news,
Walks after rainstorms
In puddles without shoes,
Lives on an island
To be close to the sea,
Eats toast and jelly
Every day for tea,
Has no religion
But is a saintly soul,
Speaks softly to the heavens
At
midnight from a knoll.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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