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Here she stands
The water at her back;
Her feet resting firmly
On this unholy shore.
Ahead of it is the same,
Stretching out for miles more.
It isn’t much this gaunt land,
An island
Built of death and debris,
Surrounded
By drowning trees.
But there she stands
Like a Memorial Plaque,
In its mournful isolation
Dressed in black.
But look at her smile,
Standing free from all the rest,
Her red lips
Bright as flowers
Beyond the hills unseen,
Spilling into this dreadful scene
A glory that is beyond my wildest dreams.
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Nice poem Markie. Poetry is an art form well beyond my ability.
I'm not so sure, I think it lives in everyone.
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