A Table for None

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Dust sits on the table
For the things we haven’t done.
The china--
Not scratched nor chipped
For the things we haven’t shared.
The hoorays, hoorahs, and merriment--
The sounds we haven’t heard.

A dent is in the wood,
A dead, disheveled spider--
disintegrating in glass.
Oh what troubles I see here,
In a place of what once was--
Full of laughter
And of cheer.

I forget the way it used to be--
To love, to share, to be again.
See, I’m still here,
You know.
And a reunion would be nice.





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