Paul Bryan Friedman
She Left Her Umbrella - Poem by Paul Bryan Friedman
This paradise will never be the same.
The salon is upstairs, on the second floor. You can't miss it.
If I were younger
and no one told me about
days like these,
I'd sing a doo-wah-ditty-dum-diddy, too.
and offers of succor come to late.
Help, I need somebody
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