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Drawings

06/11/2021
in the meadow, we
Sat idle

Content.

I carved her soul

In stone, and
she kept it.

Her smile -

the cracking
of a lake in spring
           -As cold. 

The wind began to rage.

She kept it;

that which I
Had chiseled
And threw it.

           Shattered.       

The sky inked,

My stories lost
To the storm.

With her pen, she
drew my Soul.
with her hand, she
Crushed the paper.

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