Late in the day
just before the sun
moves into it’s hiding
place, a long shadow,
a very long shadow,
strikes a fleeting pose
on all of what I know
as today.
It seems as if the covers
are slowly being closed
on the final chapter
of some mysterious novel,
bearing the nostalgic,
but faint, scent,
of carnations.
-Joy S. Barefoot
(Inspired by a very dear friend, who, in a short period of time,
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