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August 16, 2018


sometimes I wonder if Im a curmudgeon

they dont often smile, and apparently

neither do I, aloof in my corner, frowning

instead of everyone else not getting it

in a room filled with neighbours praise

I stand apart with my face all grumpy

confront by untruth only I seem to care

how is it that these my brothers see

yet seeing truth mixed with greater lie

seem to neither care nor discern

what they praise is fraught with error

or, of greater horror yet, is it I who

cannot tell truth from lie, though cares


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Each New Day A Miracle
All poems copyright Peter Rhebergen
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