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 Jul 2020 Frank Russell
Traveler
Evil is at the door
Help isn’t coming
I slip out the back
momentarily
compromised
now running
A positions I take
to survive




These state’s
in which we exist
Are temporary
........
Traveler Tim
I can't fit
in your
pocket,
that kind
of love
is too
much.
Such a
dreamy
coffin,
when all
I wanted
was
your
touch.
When you're not here

Is missing you half the fun

Or half the pain?

Either way

My love is with you

Whether I am there or not
A special day; have
a drink on me, if you can.
I've had enough, thanks.
#grateful
Keep me from saying
What I feel
Let me keep it
Buried inside
Crashing into
Skeletons of long ago
Take my pen
Let me bury
my thoughts
So I can
Keep my dignity
Common people called him stingy
And with his funds he was.
But he was parsimonious
In areas that they never saw.

                Epitaph
True, he never spent a dime
If he could get it free.
He never wasted any time
That anyone could see.

He didn’t have much love to give
And wanted no love back
He had a certain way to live
Laid out in white and black.

He didn’t give and didn’t take.
He had no use for friends.
He died alone and that’s the way
This kind of story ends
                      ljm
The word was, of course, Parsimonious.  I  like doing these, but am having trouble keeping up  with one a day every day.  They are easy, but sorta like graffitti on a wall.  It's OK to paint them out.
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