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“Now listen here” she said to him

Whose mind is naught but poetic whim

“I see what you ain't ought to see,

“I live a life that's not for me”

She looked at him, his restless hands

Gestured ‘round the endless lands


“It seems as though our life’s a book,

Whose protagonists aren't off the hook”

(and still she spoke)

“Our roof’s caved in, our table’s broke”


“What could it be”

He said to she,

And stared off with empty eyes

possibly at the greying skies

“Is there any chance

That the fields know how to dance?”

Is it when the raindrops fall

that we finally look at it all,

 and as the storm comes rolling in

 not simple, proper

 but air so thin

 as the sky starts to dim

we see that life is so, so grim.”



so slowly,

he looked at her,

his eyes dull but his mind a whir.

“I need to know that you're still there,

behind that face, that shaggy hair.

“I need to know”

she said, and so


he took her hand

ignoring chance of reprimand

“it’ll be okay,

be it tomorrow or yesterday.

you'll be here if I fall”


She scoffed, he had the gall


he continued on with

no stop

“I know that you're about to drop

I know you aren't happy here,

I know, you know

I see your fear.”


“you can't know how I’m feeling

I can barely tell how you're dealing,

You tell me nothing and still demand

I understand the special brand

which is your mind

and sometimes you're almost kind…”


she trailed off here

(the) air thick with fear

and, so slowly, he dropped her hand

and slipped back off to cuckoo land

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