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Roofs and Benches
she sits on roofs,
he on benches
fingers touch sky,
feet on ground
she savors fruits
straight from trees
he works hard
to get fruits of labor
leading separate lives
but bound by fate's thread
since birth
...feelings from childhood
could be the purest
dormant yet breathing...
the dreamer,
the worker,
and fate
she still touches skies,
he sits on benches still
both alone
as time moves on...
***just felt like posting something,
an old poem of mine written November of 2010
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