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Poems

Salted

Paul Gaugain – By the Sea, 1892.

 

There’s no place I’d rather be
Than here by the sea
Where the birds are singing all day.
All my worries and cares
Drift away on sea airs
And I’m left to do nothing but play.

The world may be burning
And it’s certainly turning
But here every day feels the same.
I wake and I write
From morning to night
And at times I forget my own name.

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By David Murphy

David Murphy writes mystery novels, poetry, and other books, including a ranking of the Sherlock Holmes stories. 
Visit his website at: www.davidlandonmurphy.com

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