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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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