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Jesse LaPointe
Poems
Dec 2012
Fleeting Stone
A house bird with a call
So distant and ringing
Alone on a hill
Screams last throughout the singing
Paint now of dreary hillsides
And cold empty lofts
Of torn wallpaper
And warmth all but forgot
Stand atop the crook
The dying widow's peak
And stare down at the neighbours
Who are lifeless in sleep
Stone upon stone
Lined row upon row
They've traded a hearth
For a fresh patch of snow
Written by
Jesse LaPointe
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