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Musings on Penelope

Another rosy fingered dawn,
Barefoot again on the manicured lawn
She holds it down, always where she’s supposed to be
Perfectly cast in his Odyssey
She pours her heart out searching for who she used to be
Head never touches a pillow
Every night, every thread unraveled, unraveled
All part of the script
Essential, invisible, wings clipped
Hours turn to days, seasons come and go
She knows he’ll never choose to come home
So fast, kids came then they go
Better trust the gods than the woman you know
Not everyone excels at archery
So lucky, she gets to be Penelope

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