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An Eternal Time Through the swirling mist she stood The fog clung to her like rivulets of fine cotton Her eyes peered out upon the horizon Tears of salt mixed with the salt of the spray Her flaxen hair lay matted against the small of her back Cold shivers, staring wet through to her boney frame Looking, watching, waiting for a ship that never came The widow’s walk was aptly named for now she was one of them |
Additional Notes:
I was walking on the beach at Puget Sound (where we live), and this sprang to mind.
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