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Mark Frawley Poem
Silently whistling down the sidewalk,
The autumn leaves take their daily stroll.
Further and further away they go, the closer they get.
Speed walking on the concrete slab,
They feel a gust of wind pushing them.
Ironically, a leaf blower rounds them together.
Their stroll ends, as they are bunched into the black plastic bag.
A different stroll is coming; the landfill is near.
They spend their last months together, decomposing away.
Copyright © Mark Frawley | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
Mark Frawley Poem
Strokes of green and yellow,
Come out just to say hello.
Ballet in the sand;
Look at the position of his hand.
Bold and Brash;
This dancing is trash.
His routine came to a close;
Look at his position, he is frozen.
Copyright © Mark Frawley | Year Posted 2017
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