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Nov 2021
is filled with holes
and looks like Swiss cheese
on buttered rolls

Even the moon
is planted with pocks
that stack up like
building blocks

Even the air
is blown with dust
billowing through the trees
with acrid gust

Even the flowers
are torn
all that’s left
are the leaves and
steely thorns

Even the windows
are painted grey
and stick to the frames
as flattened clay
sandra wyllie
Written by
sandra wyllie  56/F
(56/F)   
127
   Ledge and Sean Fitzpatrick
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