FOUR CORNERS
Scratching his bald head
He looks at the shelves,
Stacked with books and files
Yellow with age.
A portrait of his wife hangs above the window.
A cobweb at a corner, a dead spider.
He looks down.
On the table,
A tea stained floral table cloth
And on it;a letter.
Unopened.
It will be stacked with the rest.
Staring at the window
He wonders
"...better world...these four corners."
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