That day we awoke in the same way,
said the same things, performed
the same actions.
I didn’t know it was to be that day
until it was nearly over,
though I made my way
so ill at ease, how could I know
it would be that day?
Now I emerge from a shambles of sheeting
to find scratch marks on the door
and a squat brown dog at the bed’s end,
eyes like amber beads.
Reblogged this on Another Way of Saying.
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Spooky!!!
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There are good days, bad days and “that day” – a day when everything changes forever. Thanks oldmainer.
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