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10 March 2012

Stranger

death-mask
Left to the mercy of the weather god
Drenched in the rhythmic rain
A man – a foreigner perhaps
Dark and curly – straight and bent
I’m lost in the open fields and dales
I carry the casts of my funeral face
And relics of the fallen saints
Always a stranger – stranger than life
I quarry great stones of remembrance
Once I was this – once I was that
Now a stranger in these parts
.

1 comment:

  1. a lovely small poem containing interesting philosophical pondering!

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