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The lady has no name, 
Least not one passing my lips. 
Over the garden, past the large oak tree,  
Beyond my garage,  
Where the ginger cat bounces and 
Prowls on that side of the fence. 
Every day our worlds entwine, 
Unknowingly I stare through my life,  
At hers. 
I quietly watch  
Entranced by her routine. 
She launders her washing,  
Tidies her shrubs, 
I glare past her comings and goings 
Into her soul. 
Sometimes I wonder,  
What does she see? 
Me at my window fixing my hair, 
Plastering my face; hiding these tears. 
Or does she perceive the real timid shell?  
Two strangers touching souls,  
Through a daily glance. 
Her walk is so distinct,  
Shuffling, with speed. 
She likes the colour blue, 
Blue clothes and flowers 
Bounce in the wind. 
No-one seems to call, 
A lonesome soul,  
Content with her garden? 
Or a battered facade scared or abused? 
I am her only caller. 
A distant unknowing friend.  
I enjoy her life’s, days,  
Does she ponder mine? 


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The following comments are for "A Distant Friendship"
by C.Lynagh

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