Village Musings


parked cars fade in the twilight air

drinkers and walkers take time to share

a playhouse is open with a few in line

a bar’s bright lights glow a drunken shine

a thinker is smoking dwelling on the past

of younger dreams that ran by fast

his fingers have ink spots, scars and stains

they ache terribly when ever it rains

a dog goes by and pauses to look

at the closed store windows facing old books

darkening skies and the stars pop so deep

later on the thinker just wants sleep

the village is pulsing all through the night

tomorrow will be another village delight



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