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Title your piece
You said
Faded things need a touch
of colourless grace
and I wondered,
How?
I’m colourless enough
so my touch almost
coloured you, but
Faded things need a touch
and my hands were stained
with hope, with faith
with no trace at all
of colourless grace
It has cut deep, the year
of enduring the echoes
that come with your fading
and I wonder
How have I not lost
my eyes to the clouds here?
To the vanity here.
How?
LARDO
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