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Toms Fiddle
Tom was not appreciated most of his life; neither was his fiddle.
He insisted on having it buried with him, a pillow in the middle.
At three a.m. the witching hour, he creates music for the others.
The lonely, the forgotten, the sad, the depressed, and the angry mothers.
They gather at their gravestones, appreciating the concert of Tom.
Last time his music was appreciated was May 1971, at the senior prom.
You will not catch him, or see him, unless you join the sorry others.
The lonely, the forgotten, the sad, the depressed and the angry mothers.
Copyright ©
Caren Krutsinger
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