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Poetry

The eve of war

 

By Roger Humes
April 23, 2003
The Iranian

a lone crumpled sheet of paper

(perhaps a shopping list
or the reminder of a chore,
possibly a lovelorn note
or some verse best left to silence)

caressed by the fingers of a cold wind
tumbles with the dust
across the darkened road

teeters on the edge of sight

and is gone   

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