across the road she crouches and mopes

I can imagine us both in all sorts of capers

her dead husband's crane collapsed, the

tragic story splashed in all the daily papers

the width of a street yet a yawning gap

behind her the glow of a widow at night

my crane gleams in the moonlight clear

no metal fatigue affects its noble height

airborne pokes my rude steeple, a b...

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