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In Memoriam—Firestone Feinberg (1951-2020)

b''h

The Tourist 

My pen is dry — it's out of ink,
My paper's brown with age,
But still I'll write — or so I think —
At least another page.

It need not be pure poetry,
Neither perfect prayer,
But just a word to tell someone
That once I traveled here.
© 2018 Firestone Feinberg
The Usual Suspects
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