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From A High Window
Standing on the wide grey hill
The noontide skyscape hangs heavily
Like fog crafted from artists’ hands
Cities of unease hang invisible in the air.
They pour scorn on every hope in his heart
Picturing clouds unfurling with time
And shades of black rolling in on him.
A binocular gazer, from a high window
In the distance
Watches and waits, careful a...
Thursday 30th May 2013 4:54 pm
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