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by phil gennuso

by phil gennuso

an empty chair, in the golden meadow,
perhaps it has always been there,
a relic of some sweet picnic,
or some idle day dreamer,

perhaps some boy or girl,
some man or woman,
just wandered off and found something
or someone more interesting
and thought, why bother,

or perhaps someone just got lost in life
and never returned,
never found the way back,
and left this empty red chair,
a forget-me-not,
a silent testament, to an unknown destination.