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Thursday, October 13, 2011

Sunday Stroll

The sitar sings in sky of stone.
An old one walks- but not alone,
His cane steps with him; open Day
Yawns a morning smile, not to betray
To passing youth they pass themselves.
Like dusty books on dusty shelves,
Some day much sooner than they think
They will be set aside... to sink?
Well, so they would now hold the view,
If they would think of him.  A few
leaves on the sidewalk notice more
While breathing less.  Another four
Pass by, one man, three dogs along
To drag him who knows where. A throng,
Then not a throng.  Crisp autumn air
Brings notes the old one heard before- somewhere.

An old one walks--but not alone.
The sitar sings in sky of stone.

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