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“Post Or Parcel”

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The faucet rusting dripping dripping
The Raindrops on the window slipping slipping
Airs outside the window pane nipping nipping
Branches of the Fir tree ripping ripping
The shrill piercings of sounds
Stripping stripping the silence

Waiting in the berceuse rocking rocking
In front of the clocks’ stare tocking tocking
Sounds of the post truck mocking mocking
Docking docking
You of Your Patience

YOU WAIT . . .
At your evening tea you sip sip
When you thought you heard the flip flip
Of the mail slot
No Parcel
No Letter
Couldn’t find anything better
Than waiting





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