The way the world weathers is
What gives it away.
Two picket fences
Lean up against each other,
One bare, one flaking white paint.
I will not even attempt
To be poetic
About how lovely they are.
They are. They just wear away.
And nothing lets anything
Be. Say that again.
Nothing lets anything be.
There was a whitewashed wood fence
Beside a whitewashed wood fence.
Some of the pattern is gone.
Gone is what gives it away.
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