They smile to each other but not at us then glide off like swans
while he turns to John, to me, and as we watch them
climb the stairs I'm grateful we can't see their eyes.
Bob
Bob, a fine read. Be pleased, cousin.
I once wrote a set called the Garbage Collection (with two others). One
wanted to do a coffee stand, but sadly I did not. Maybe after the trip.
There are no swans here, I wonder why not.
Smiles.
Gary
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Poets for Peace.... ˇPoemas sí, balas no!
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