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By the light of the local Spar
Eyes snapped shut in the street-facing bedroom
lit up by the light of the Spar
that floods it's white plastic windows
illuminating each passing car
In her curled up hands a faded old photo
crinkled,yellowing,torn,
but the hands,once so gentle,that hold this mementoe,
are as cold,are as granite, as stone
In came Sister with a meagre tea tray
barging in,past...
Sunday 31st January 2016 6:01 pm
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