The widows pane

just across the river
just outside my mind
the haze that has turned to London fog
has closed its wandering eye.

the sight of man made pane
thru broken windows shine
from a time of long forgotten into the widows smile.

hands of mercy reach down from the burning sun
while little voices fill the air
and like a merry go round and its golden ring
little voices laugh and sing.

forever we feel forever or not
the truth that hides behind the widows pane
while her broken window shines.

nothing forever more
nothing the wandering eye will see
all will be forgotten inside the broken widows dreams.

Godfather.





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