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Sep 2010
It's getting late, we've run out of time.
A high - too high, now coming down.
Plucking stones from a dry stream bed,
Or starlit seaside strolls post dinner.

It never seemed to be on our side...

Lingering all the while on the back burner,
On which you cooked food for the soul,
A long drive ahead and a long way to go.
I'll have no reason to light that candle.

Clinging intensely to that last embrace,
She pinches me to tell me of that

                                                   "Sunday feeling".
Written by
Allan E Bartlett
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