Those Strange Ways

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Those Strange Ways

He had a quick face,
changeable, motion like clouds,
but I can’t recall the colour of his eyes.

Whether respectful or frankness of iron,
he was pleasant, although sudden,
and most would be glad

of this acquaintance. But of his eyes.
Those I could not define, nor his
memorable draw on that day.

 

 

 

Found text: Bleak House by Charles Dickens
and remixed with my 1991 Winter Journal

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