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Lovely day takes her bow
and so spills her veil upon
the hardened ground.

Her velvet fingers
slide softly over memories,
but like the ag-ed past,
she can’t quite recall
all the all.

On her birth, she spoke
of hope and never loss:
brightness, light and the turning key.
Expectations.
New eyes seeing new light.

Now her time has left.
Sputtering for breath,
she gasps for the elusive hold.

© rl busséll 2018

The sunsets in Texas

The sunsets in Texas

For Boo, a sun in the dark world.

This entry was posted in poetry.
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