This year's crimes stroll about the lawn
Some solitary, some with
arms linked.
One, beneath a cypress, his
wrist
In a cast, laughs quietly
to himself.
They are waiting to be
addressed by name
Administered a light stroke
upon the chest
And given a few dollars and
new shoes.
The year in waiting, soon
to come on stage,
Thinks it will have no
place for them.
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