it's been a long time and it's getting late --
teacup nearly empty; still the music plays
today a high-school teacher
breathes deep, speaks love
through English tomes --
he's telling the story
yesterday a mother-artist
drove to the city, imprinted love
deeply upon her neck --
she's a preacher's daughter
tomorrow a preacher's wife
arrives in Budapest, clutching love
with a few belongings --
she's going to make a home
i have neither degree, nor tattoo, nor foreign visa,
but i'll raise my teacup and sing along
to love
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