Saturday, September 15, 2018

Blessed is the Dead-End Town

Blessed are the dead-end towns,
The places where beggars and mothers walk the same streets,
Where the man in designer clothes passes the man with no legs.

Blessed are the busy streets,
Where gypsies walk in colorful, glimmering skirts,
After girls in stained sweaters and torn pants pass unnoticed.

Blessed are the broken paving stones,
Across which people short and tall, rich
And poor, make their way, with no children or many.

Blessed is the dead-end town,
Where everyone who couldn't leave stays,
For this town has everything to gain.

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