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The elephants may be leaving soon;

they told my only daughter.

And if she could,

she would walk away with them.

So then I would follow too,

in the solemn grace of their procession

in gentle eyes

and heavy footfalls,

past the furthest lonely landmarks of the Earth;

to be swallowed by the sky,

the echo of their last trumpeting call

not far behind.

But the plastic models left behind

on my daughter’s shelf

won’t even blink;

standing empty as a still parade of ghosts.


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