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Wind, Flicks And Mirrors
Stepping out into this morning’s
Windstorm
was like walking
Unexpectedly into a strip show,
Every branch and limb bending
And blowing, showing everything
And more, women on the street
Daring in dresses, struggling to
Keep things and bits together,
Except for one who seemed to
Dance with the gusts and gale,
Unconcerned when her sweet
Spots would flash a shot of
Anticipating eyes and wishing
Faces, my kind of gal, free and
At one with the world she is in,
You came to mind in that blustery
Busyness, you and the flicks that
Sometimes seem like you’re
Looking in a mirror.
Stephen Nesbitt © . |
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