The images were only representational illusions of things that had past.
Widows, orphans, and dogs that were lost.
Unfounded. Unbounded. Unpounded.
Only the image remained.
And that would be gone too. One day. Some day.
Where did they live?
What did they eat?
Whom did they love?
Winds and train whistles blow sweet somber serenity into the lonely night.
Have a witty Wednesday!
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