Geoffrey Long
Tip of the Quill: Archives

These things she said,
this life he led,
the lives we lived
inside my head,
the dream she dreamed,
the coat he wore,
the snow that fell
and fell some more,
this all is that,
all that is this,
with nothing left
but a mother's kiss;
this dream I dreamed,
a dream before,
nothing less,
but something more.

(Just a bit of doggerel that popped into my head while surfing about the web this evening. Please carry about your business.)

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