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Harry Wells Harry Wells
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soul mates

Written during a period when I was having a grim time many years ago.

It’s gone eleven,
Too late to go out
And nobody’s called.
I watch the second
Hand on the clock slice
Wafers of my time
Adding, layer on layer,
To the palimpsest
Of my existence,
Each one still leaving
Faint traces of grief,
Joy, regret, success,
Gratitude and hope.
Impressions of life. 1 comment

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