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The Solitary WomanShe sits alone on an old,grimy park bench, overhung by the branches of gnarly pine trees. As she knits her dark grey shawl her mind drifts back to sunnier,more pleasant days. Old childhood friends fly across her mind along with those old sock hops spent dancing the night away. Her first boyfriend and the first sweet kiss they shared on that warm summer's eve flashes through her thoughts. Bringing a much needed smile to her old,wrinkled face. As quickly as they came to her tired mind they quickly fade into the darkness of time past, leaving the solitary,old woman alone with her knitting. Donavon Scott Vinson Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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