Witness… a Dirge

Weary and woeful,

A dirge sung with tears,

Witnesses watched a lonely parade

March past like the years.

Though each sight, like a beacon,

Illuminated discomfort and pain,

Pupils constricted against the intrusion–

The silent profane…

Asking what would they wonder,

Would the witnesses be missed,

When they removed to the wilds,

As their irises insist?

–C. Green

Witness

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