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______________
ferreting through old papers the other
night, I found, in a forgotten corner of
my closet, this poem, I thought it had
some merit
_________
a simple story,
mine.
Like yours,
it has its moments
— passion,
pain,
to each in similar proportions
(I’ve also had a broken heart,
and you are happy too, sometimes) —
moments telling tales, a lot, for me
of this
or that
— and every tale is true, in time,
of everyone —
moments that pass,
one,
and then the next,
just gone,
like that,
and apart from what is here,
right here — this black and white —
this thirtieth day in May,
nineteen seventy-nine,
its 13:48,
then 49,
are gone,
just gone,
like that !
R ! chard