What, We Can Only ImagineA Poem by Ken e BujoldAn hour out of Kingston he's run to ground. Hands up, gives up. The sweet scent of freedom betrayed by a hunger for getting back to old haunts.
Looking at the grainy photo below the headline-- I couldn't get past the eyes. Not exactly defiant but definitely not cowed-- a lover on the edge of a midnight redemption.
Somewhere in those fields I suspect he found what he'd lost-- what, we can only imagine.
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3 Reviews Added on October 4, 2022 Last Updated on October 4, 2022 AuthorKen e BujoldSomewhere in Ontario, CanadaAboutWriters write, it's what we do. Fish swim, woodpeckers peck... writers scribble (inside and outside the lines). more..Writing
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