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Poetry Pleases: The Stone

Here's a poem written at a time of great stress in Marianne Hall's life.

Bitterly cold today
Fingers like frostbite
But nothing as cold as the stone

Usually friendly
Reverberating answers
Today it was just a stone

Ashes just ashes
Stone just stone
A shock to get no response

Has the chord been severed?
Must I live with the living
Not with the dead?

Numbed but relieved
A tinge of regret maybe
But life must go on
with the living instead.

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