You were, as a life I might have led
a different lineage along the bloodlines
quietly buried below the farmer's harrow.
A dose of grace had reset the record's spin
smoothly round another table.
Broken over someone else's bread,
the crumbs collect underfoot do not
lead to anyone's gingerbread fable.
Had to catch these wisps before they fled, indignant and impatient. Will come back to it.
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