The Singer
The Peacock Punks
bide their time
in New York's finery
Their aegis ,Betty Davis eyes
follows them in no uncertain terms
The day is engrossed with snowflakes
There is serenity in the air
as the chanteuse
forgets her words
I sensed the silence
as a solitary butterfly flew past
I longed for my reward
Copyright © Antony Glaser | Year Posted 2023
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