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056. _the three graces (in memory of beryl harvey)

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Three graces in the market stood
Clutching fabric hearts,
While passers-by did weave and sigh
Round donkeys and their carts.

The morning sun, the heat and sand,
The smell of herbs and fruit,
The slapping sandals, dusty hooves,
The stamp of foreign boots.

And in this noise and in this place
They stood with silent pride,
A fleeting glimpse of youth and love
With hearts held open wide.

We smiled when we saw them,
For it was strange to see -
And which three were the graces?
- It matters not to me...