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Poem: Lonely Gallery

Yellow light streams from open windows
Shining from living rooms and bedrooms
And all those other rooms
Where people move about sharing a meal
Or a kiss or horseback rides
Life framed by white panels and glass
Without the occupants knowing
That they are art in motion
Being watched by a passerby
On the outside in the cold street
Appreciating all the scenes unfolding
That he can’t be part of
With hands thrust deep in coat pockets
Continuing through the gallery alone

Copyright © 2021 TJS Sherman All rights reserved.


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