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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 ...

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watch towerchurchyardreminiscinggodfaithchildhood friendsold mangraves

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