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Touch
I was speaking with the poet,
Humbled as always to have
His ear his voice,
Quite famous really in his
Own right with success enough
To have the choice
To live in quiet anonymity,
When down the hall
My favourite witch
Straight from Montreal
Came walking, talking
Silently as is her manner,
Of course hugs all around
In that moment when
Everyone realizes that
Souls never lose touch,
And then a note from
Meeleirrek fresh from
Dancing in the movies,
Underling that one does
Not have to physically touch
For souls to lock in touch.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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