Delivered by her coming
sealed up when she left
it’s like old Willie McTell
searching the desert for the blues
while he wanders blind in a dirty city
trying to stay in the outside lane
& why single out the female form
now she's someone's angel child
mirrors are turned in everywhere
these clothes are their clothes
there's a squatter in your house
turn back the clock in haste
the world saw us coming
leave enough time for love.
© 2017 Rob Schackne
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