They didn’t really shovel earth
onto the gleaming wood and brass,
but they might as well;
they lowered it through plastic turf
that’s supposed to pass as grass
and I guess they slowly tolled a bell;
and I can’t just turn
to you and ask how this will pass:
I’m going my separate way to my private hell.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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