For Marie, almost.
By Gilbert
Tue, 28 Mar 2006
- 1870 reads
Today,
in the bitter
grey pause
before dawn
when dead men walk,
I watched you breathe.
As the night died
over rain streaked roofs
I saw the small
shreds of morning
almost touch you.
And in the
slow hooves of rain
I held your warmth
like a crown
of thorns
and wished you
were here.
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