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The Fire Burns
Poems
Aug 2017
The Old House
Floor boards wiggle,
springs zephyr invades,
through plaster and lath,
and under pier and beams.
Sunlight squirms through,
illuminating dancing motes,
dripping dew taps out a beat,
in the middle of the room.
Once full of life and colors,
now empty and drab,
the only inhabitants now,
are memories and pests.
Written by
The Fire Burns
M/Artesia, NM
(M/Artesia, NM)
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