Postcard front
GMCarte Postale

The sky is silent, void of light,

A lonely satellite in flight.

I stare at stars, a fleeting hope,

That somewhere, someone's watching, elope.

The night is long, the air is cold,

A story left untold, foretold.

With old-soul warmth,

Gord

Stamp
From
A Suburban Balcony
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