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If Sunday Never Ends

Updated: Mar 19, 2021

Sunday's streets are blown and bare,

empty of any commotion

As if time had been stalled, or some sabbath curfew

had been suddenly called

Stealing through them like some giddy sleuth,

and my prize is the hush,

the chorus of wind through the hedges and rush

They are dancing at dusk, and romantically flush

Like lovers they entwine beneath the ocean where the moon is

Dark december skies and held aloft by lanky spruces

- Gene Starwind

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