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Tuesday, March 04, 2008

If, one morrow

By Francis Scudellari

A simple question: If,
One morrow's treading fate
Falls heavy footed down,
What, sake lost, would we leave?

A fatted bloody splotch,
Full-heart blackened, soot stain …
By downpours, not rinsed clean;
E'en one million cycles

Or withered husks, empty
Love drained, desiccated …
By blasted sand cast off;
Dust mites fore-Time's brushed hands
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