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Waiting For Krzysztof
While she was waiting for Krzysztof
While she had time on her hands
She mused on the passing of steam
And the far Morecambe sands
And the grass that is bent by the winds
On the dunes all day
While she gazed out on the platform
In the pools of the cold neon light
She dreamed of the crying of gulls
And the stealth of the tide
Nobody walks these long sands
Without their leave
© 2012 Dave Keir
