Who Knew

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By Unintended

Sunday greeted with normality But stole a friend too soon. You never guessed that the afternoon Would bring along a fatality. You say a few words: "I'm coping, love" But my friend, I know You're lonely as the birds. Does it eliminate excessive salt From the wound since you knew That his time was almost due? Or do you feel like God's at fault? I know you're looking at pictures Of his happier times Even as I write this line.

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