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A Quatrain

It flew through the window this morning 
in a cold little eddy of air- 
Dressed in yesterday's rags and tomorrows paper, 
it asked for a lock of my hair. 


It held up a sign and offered a cup, 
crying Cassandra's tears- 
whispered tomorrow's disaster and yesterday's news 
with a croaking voice in my ears. 


It flew through the window this morning, 
and I ushered it out the door- 
I couldn't shake this feeling I had- 
I'd somehow seen it before.

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