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Cassidy

Rating: 4.9
Ground deep in cold, cold stone, CASSIDY,
chiselled long ago by craftman's hand
on a Celtic Cross.
Slowly a finger traces each etched letter,
a vivid nail gouges green velvet moss
creeping into, living in, CASSIDY,
corroding the name as sly worms long
past corrupted the dead Cassidy.

Unvisited for many years have lain
the remains of Cassidy.
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COMMENTS
Michael Shepherd 13 May 2005
Thinking of Yeats I guess, I'd like more of his story - true or what you could imagine.
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Mary Nagy 13 May 2005
Very vivid images. Great poem. Sincerely, mary
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