The late season snowfall nearly imperceptible.
Turning, you realize the door is locked
and, as you watch, it morphs into a wall
which you scale to no avail:
The view is gone.
Not the first time.
You've squandered elements of then to barter for what?
Cue the ventriloquist: But this is how I see it!
Bravo!
Crouched like a scaredy cat on the deck of a ship
with Dylan singing, I'm sailing away, my own true love.
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| Anita |