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A Walk In The Park

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I kick my blue boots in the
reds, yellows, and oranges faded

Now the trees stand somberly
Naked along the worn pavement path

I can feel the approaching frost
Biting at my nose

And old man and young girl sit
Bundled up on a bench

“Sarah, your mother…” he says
drifting off

She just nods her head
Accustomed to the unspoken dialogue

I turn my head back
Trip on my shoelace.

Watch the two simple figures
Blend into the bleak, almost-winter, landscape

It’s coming I can smell it.





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