FAY

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A hidden stream runs deep

through the soil under this town.

There is the river, of course

churning through its channelled

constricted structured way.

But there is another web

of hidden trickling streams

a ream of unwritten rivulets

that oozes in silence deep

beneath the roads and stones,

those familiar names and voices

and streets laced with that great

intricacy of unintended design.

An interlocking mesh

of unwritten words

of so many hopes,

deeds long forgotten

lives toiling endlessly

to ensure that food

and clothes were bought

and children could eat and grow.

(Excerpt “FAY”)

 

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