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The Mischief of the Light
One was pretty, her hair was fair
She flashed a smile so good to see. The
other child was lean and dark
With features ravaged by unloved years,
Her eyes were haunted, her vision scarred.
I said hello to both of them.
The first child smiled and waltzed away
The other placed her hand in mine.
Then suddenly I was confused
Perhaps it was the mischief of the light
It was the fair haired one who held my hand.
Jack Mashman
1981 |
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