Outside the Window

Across the street, outside the window,
I can see us, dining;
We look so young and slight, as though
We thought each light was shining

For us, on us, and only us,
Or so we were disposed —
But now I look, the place is dark,
Like time itself,
It’s closed

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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