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Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #2084166
It did get quiet...for my departed friend, Lynda Miller.

It got quiet
because she died.

Rusted, flaking Chevy,
once emerald green,
parked alone by the open shed.
Can't get the door closed
since last winter.
Autumn leaves
now rotting inside
make good beds for field mice
and their pinkies.
It got quiet
because she died.

Black pond,
growing with green disease
out back, forgotten
amid her decaying bracken,
shimmers no more.
Crickets rough legs drown
throaty soprano peepers.

It did get quiet
because she died.

Old yellow cat,
low-shouldered, stalking
the barren chicken coop,
hasn't been around,
at least...two winters now?
My hollow gaze
catches a craggy reflection
in rain spattered,
dusty pane --

It did get quiet.

In Memory: Lynda Miller
© Copyright 2016 Brian Swimmin Downstream A Bit (ripglaedr3 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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