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I Hear Them Calling
(c) Dennis Johnson

I hear them calling in the night
When my world is calm and quiet.

They speak to me in words I would not hear,
Yet their voices won't be silenced.

They beseech me with whispers
Asking, 'why were we left?'
They cannot understand.

The wind carries their questions.

The stars shine down as tears.
*
The moon becomes their faces.

And I have no answer worth speaking.



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