A Longing Was In The Branches
P Patti Masterman
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a longing was in the branches
of the departed path
touched with glimpses of flowers,
cherished steps dividing the day.
what ghost once had eyes
what hand caught hold of love-
holding it like a rare bird dying,
hastening to its end.
nobody notices now
what lies at the foot of the trail-
how nothing is there
instead of fullness.
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