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Found Poetry 527
the bridge, a metal flap swaying over the river there are many details there its color, distance, height, and weight whether it will always lay straight or open up to the sky like a gate as people fidget and shiver I wonder if the fish below even care
This poem was created from the complete collection of Sherlock Holmes stories. Click here to get the Sherlock Holmes stories. A new found poem is afoot!
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