The guillotine creaks,
Its sides splintered, damp, and knotted.
No business this morning,
The basket beneath is clean and kempt.
The street is bare.
No angry shouts or darkened revelry.
A hollow monolith,
The structure sways, barely, as breezes pass.
Dark red speckles
Form a grim ellipse, there, on the pavement.
Tomorrow will be better:
More work to do,
Sentences to punctuate.
For today, just rest.
There will always be more days to see.
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