The Pilaster
E Elizabeth Madox Roberts
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The church has pieces jutting out Where corners of the walls begin. I have one for my little house, And I can feel myself go in. I feel myself go in the bricks, And I can see myself in there. I'm always waiting all alone, I'm sitting on a little chair. And I am sitting very still, And I am waiting on and on For something that is never there, For something that is gone.
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