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The Woman Next Door

A thin trail of smoke
escapes my parted lips
Sun drenched Sighs of sorrow
Fill the thick evening air.
The woman who lives next door
She is crying again.
Who knows what of tonight.
Like every other night
It is a long lost mystery.
Forgotten with each sunset
Reborn in coming twilight.
Katherine H. Belle
Saturday, August 8, 2009
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