I read a book by a poet
much loved by fans and critics.
She was good.
Her poems were full of witty wordplays,
puns,
sudden twists and turns
and liberal doses of ironic observations
about life and love
and lack thereof.
But as I worked through the book
an image came to mind:
We were in a field
beneath a night sky
ablaze with moon and stars
and she kept going on and on
about some litter
that she spotted on the ground.
Pax et bonum
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