Nov 2014
You never thought you’d
mourn the loss of one hour,
only a single turn
of the minute hand.
But how mistaken you were,
when your brightest noon
vanished behind the tops
of the desolate pines.
mourn the loss of one hour,
only a single turn
of the minute hand.
But how mistaken you were,
when your brightest noon
vanished behind the tops
of the desolate pines.
(USA)
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