Quiet The quietness of the morning falls around me Like a silent shroud No birds sing Nothing moves Even the leaves on the tall dark Maple are still. Flat roofs sit sill in anticpation of the late Fall heat Red brick immobile in time Stands like sentries on a small town street Watching the cracked asphalt Run southward to the Bay. Beside me an old dog looks up pleadingly With rheumy eyes A plaintive look of age and pain Not comprehending his impending Doom. All is still.
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