Marlene Scheer


Wind whispering through my breath.
Searching for words, spoken at death.
Some in the corner, where I use to sit.
My favorite place, a place felt fit.
Cries coming from a slight easy breeze.
It's familar to me but doesn't please.
Yells flying, bouncing unknown.
Hits zooming through the zone.
All is here, never gone.

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