the evening stretched its arms, and she
looked out upon the aging sky;
he saw her through his sadness, thinking
hope does not deserve reply --
while on that deck of still-damp wood,
the shadows started playing:
a taste of never, framed with trees,
and wishes more like
praying
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Tagged: Tags Poetry
Published by 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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