Midnight
S Sally Plumb Plumb
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Old moon, cold moon,
staring through
the trees' filigree,
cares not
for yesterday's sin,
the proliferation
of bad deeds
and stealing of sanity.
The sidewalk cries
in dampness
at the ancient dark,
and shadows
of the passing dead
speak not of life
or stars
that have overslept,
but of the sun
that has been
driven away.
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