Pre-Solace
Somebody, anybody
Please hit me
With twenty more
Tons of brick
I'm down!
This sudden shocking death
This pre-solace
A Soul just twenty three, Polish
Undeniably witty;
Like a blue river, I flow
Waiting to evaporate
Hoping to see straight
Amongst clouds of clarity
Where angels trod.
(With fond memory for, Antoni Seredyniecki)
Copyright © Iris E. Sankey- Lewis | Year Posted 2021
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