Fragment Of The Human Condition - Poem by Fred Babbin
'What time is it? ', she asks.
'Ten after three', I say.
'Is that all? ' she says.
'I'm sorry' say I
and the lump grows
in my throat for her hunger.
She has spoken very little all day,
so I appreciate even these few words
while we sit, waiting.
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The Road Not Taken
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