featherish glint in her now surly eye
repels and peels off what once made
a happy is the dour strange that promotes
a story who would want a story
one tells oneself a story
without words and with
some jabs that hurt
the heart
all the way to never goes
a once sweet thing
now she's never over easy
she's just over
and the skies that open
do so in the hushed gray
making trees the lines they are
with little to surround
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