Bernard Franklin's poetry: THE CROSS,

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Sunday, February 7, 2010

THE CROSS,

The old man seems so sad today, he’s always on his own. As he shuffles up the road at an alpine pace, rejected and alone. His poor unkempt condition, with a string around his mac, some people just ignore him, others seem to turn their back. His fingernails are filthy, there are holes in both his... Sign in to see full entry.

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