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Alonzo Pizarro
Poems
Jun 2013
Doorstep
I seem to have forgotten
the face you made
when I left.
Could it be - that it was
like the last page
of a wonderful book?
Or was it more
like the last leaf clinging
to a withered tree.
Perhaps it was
like the tapped flower,
left behind by a sated bee.
To know this
would make all the difference
to me.
Written by
Alonzo Pizarro
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