The street has turned silent,
Dawn is coming,
The sun is still asleep.
I see our graveyard is a home
for hungry addicts,
Who push trolleys of stolen pipes,
poles and other unnoticed materials.
But it is just me on my roof,
With nothing but the moon singing our daily sad songs, sharing thoughts just before the moon is chased away by the yawn of the sun.
©tumie01
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