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Changing Times

The highland lass
doesn’t sing anymore.
She spews profanities instead
As she stands by the road.

The Road!
It stands out like a black scar,
As it runs in from the horizon far,
Dissecting the highland and
Devouring the meadows green.

The road is the recipient
Of her curse.
For like an enticing Apsara,
It had lured away her man.
The city on the other end of the road
Is her man’s current abode.

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