The Chase
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No words to capture
elusive love.
Chased,
with boxing glove
laced to hand.
Attempt to catch
a feathered dove;
make a lasting stand.
Stalk
whispered wind
in noon-day traffic.
Place a collar on a flea.
This vessel spent, so suddenly
does seek repose.
Lord knows,
we do our part.
Patching daily hatred
with a beaten heart.
Copyright © Vernon Witmer | Year Posted 2021
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