il y etait un statue criant dans le parc.
his cheeks are etched with forever tears.
maybe from the rain maybe just from age. a hat of melting snow too many dripped down his face in spring. he is an old cement man, you can already see his foundation cracking, the ivy loves to get her tendrils inside to grip and hold forever more and climb up, curling herself around his fare. its too early for that though. too early in spring for that. the ivy will cover in june. for now, it is just me and this cement man in a quiet forest. you can hear a peacock squawk in the background from the petting zoo. lets keep walking.
and so this cement man cries in the forest.
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