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Some Sundays Sit
Some Sundays
Sit silently
In the morning mist,
As if wondering,
Thinking,
Like the shy
Woman
Hovering over her
Latte and croissant,
Questions
Caressing her face,
Not asking,
Wondering,
Thinking,
Flirting with the
Possibility
That the answers
Might or might not be
What she wanted them to be. Stephen Nesbitt © .
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