Walking, at the end of summer
through a quiet village,
like any other,
with talking windows,
cars slowly pass a homely church,
making the sign of a cross,
I stop outside
in blue skies
swarms of crows encircle me,
sending chills throughout my spine,
Blessed Mother Mary hovers ominously
over deafening echoes of aging souls
pleading forgiveness of misspent youths,
in the face of impending ends,
a glint of forgiveness,
eases aching consciences.

-L.J. Lenehan-



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