The old carrousel Looks forlorn In the early morning gray-lavender light. Fisherman cast lines out And wait. Ancient men in torn sweaters Look out with sun and age-faded eyes over the ocean That perhaps once belonged to them. The morning peace is over Men with gull-like voices Shout at each other As they carry tubs To the seafood restaurants. Two young boys in leather jackets Carry a gigantic radio The spell is broken.
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Warren Wedin email@example.com