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Fire on the street
shinning the dust scraped brownstones
on the brink of trying
tired red scarf reflecting the warmth
in the long forgotten peoples eyes
dancing shoes still tight on their feet
dirt still clings to their wrung out hair
but the fire burns on in our hearts

Concrete stones, concrete stoops
the heart of their happiness
cold as the wind
blowing through empty doorways
were filled grey with empty toys
silence as loud as
children's cries cracking through the chill
of the shake of your shoulders
and the tap of your feet





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