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The Fog

In the yard of weeping,
A wooden block lay.
Soft rains of salt and water,
Jump swiftly down each each face.
A sadness looms in
Sobs and blues.
It drifts and sways,
The priest now prays.
Over his box and to the stones,
The Fog rolls over his tired bones.
The blackened clothes
Get up and leave;
The dirt mounds up, as
Wind rush the trees.
He lay in peace.
They stay not in gladness,
For the Fog rolls in
And delivers great sadness.



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Shogun11 said...
Dec. 5, 2012 at 9:00 pm:
I can't believe I didn't notice this earlier but there is a typo at the top, there is only supposed to be 1 "each" in the sentence ending with "down each face", not 2..
 
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Shogun11 said...
Feb. 20, 2011 at 8:13 pm:
Please feel free to look at my other stuff and comments/ ratings are appreciated!! :) thank you
 
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