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Barefoot on Thin Ice


Satan is not
Satan is not
The antichrist
But a bitter old maid
With an eraser.
Wiping
The blue from the sky
The warmth of the sun
Or the smile
From a child's face
She dances
Victrix vicarious
In the shadows
Of the day
That might have been.
Lawnmower
Without a conscience.
Or a clue.
At dawn
The sky returns
With its sun and
Its children
Dancing on the green grass
And saluting with their tongues.
 
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