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Sarah, Or Was Her Name, Christine?

Sarah, or was her name, Christine?

I know I loved her in the park

Although I never knew her name.

We passed and smiled, as on a lark,

Our destinations far apart,

as we each went our focused way

Down different paths that never led

to where we two might join and stay.

I know this poem is wistful waste…

but I say Christine or Sarah may

Forever trudge that pregnant path

where past and future met one day,

And sad, lost dreams and almost hopes

lie wasting, wounded and at bay.

A Hill resident, the author believes that the appreciation of art should not be influenced by the vagaries or prejudices of biography.

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