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Lark  By Cynthia MacGregor  
Lark perched on phone wires--
Do you feel all the words that
Pass beneath your feet?
Reclusive moon, hid,
Where in the sky¹s dark are you?
Grace me with your smile.
Wind-driven raindrops,
Flung flat against the glass pane,
Roll lifelessly down.
The timid sun creeps,
Pale and uncertain, upward,
Wearing winter doubts.
The hooting train horn
Pierces the night's steeped hush, an
Exotic birdcall.
Splintered, sun-struck ice
Glistens sharply on the ground
In cold orange fire.
Each tomorrow's dawn
Bleeds with yesterday's leeched grief
Yet glows with promise.
Lost in his eyes, I
Looked straight to his heart but could
Not see our future.
Vacant-eyed woman,
Has your tired brain shut down?
Are you still in there?
 
Pillow of clouds can't
Cushion hard realities
Of the warring world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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