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Inner-city parish (Free verse) by richa

The terraces line the road like bricks. Eighteen feet high and gunmetal grey dug into the earth like shrapnell shells. Two blocks and a field away bells of a church, and later the vicar between his first and second sermon will bless with bread and communion wine his flock with ever increasing speed. It has become a measure of his belief.

Mona Lisa 18-Sep-03/7:36 AM
Nice to see a continuation of the church theme you write so enigmatically about.




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