Lilies

January 3, 2018
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Eyes that barely clear the podium
Gaze out and are met by hundreds
Of strangers who gape back like monkeys.

Clinging to a tree that is no longer there,
The perfume of funeral flowers
Wafts through the air.
Laughter and tears are the black
Dots on a porcelain domino.
Where is the line between appreciation and loss?






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