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Beneath The Watch Tower
Beneath The Watch Tower
I watch the man who sits below the oak,
his features twisted by the scars of time,
a body wrapped inside a velvet cloak
of moss, that wasn’t there back in his prime.
He played amid the gnawing granite teeth
that sprung from grassy gums of evergreen
and knew nothing of those who lay beneath,
but only those who, with him, danced ...
Monday 18th February 2013 11:53 pm
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