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Fifteen Million
Earth reels to cold night
yet everything
stays
the same.
I wait for morning
when grey light
might brighten
somber skies.
Another day’s lies.
I don’t understand
my sadness,
for my life is good,
full of love and rich in faith.
So why do these clouds
hold me fast
in this dark place?
I observe winter’s brutal grip
squeeze tender spring leaves
and curse with frost new-flowering trees.
I understand how the wading white bird
startled by blare of a frantic train
might die from panic
where she stands.
But mostly I see
how ruin fills my nation’s streets
with yard-signs
foreclosing
on fifteen million
dreams.
poem
by
Steven Federle
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