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Detour in Witchita

A single widows veil, hung from the sky
That poor woman's tears slid in side winds
And fell over a small patch
Of luscious green, Kansas lawn

We glide through unnoticed by tonights meal
And a silent smile-as curved as that poor old woman's veil-
Buds, then blooms, then perishes
Like a flower in some far off dream,
That I can't remember by the time I wake up

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