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  October's Child



I live on the sidewalk at the end of the lane, she said
With my miniature bunny in a shadowbox bed
His fur is golden brown and his hat is bright red
She spoke rather softly while she sat there and read


You know the moon lives skyward in a miniature cup
And it often pours its dreams so that I, too, may sup
She gently reached down and picked her fur bunny up
She never once looked at me as she slowly stood up


I followed her quietly, this lone moppet of light
Ever so anxious to learn of her plight
She took a sharp left then quickly turned right
This moppet of light that sipped dreams by night


Pine needles lay scattered like mounds of moon dust
She never looked back, this moppet without trust
She suddenly disappeared in a cloud of pink dust
A lone little moppet with wanderlust


She was a mix of fiction birthed with soft, delicate lines
Her earlobes threaded with beaded peace signs
She was a sidewalk mystery in her necklace of vines
This mythological version of our own silent minds

La Fille et Son Lapin


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