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Escape (A Two-Part Poem)

Don’t worry, thieves do not a robber make.
The key is just outside the door,
Slide the hanger through
When no slick guards are near.
Although, when push comes shove,
They care little whether you take
Such a step: it shows no fear
And they appreciate your guile
As you step ‘cross stone paved floor.
Why else would they press it so close
As to be caught with a single gear?
The exit is on the left, just above
A low step: the wood is fake.
As the cold North air hits,
Take time to circle the old yew:
The trees tell the time in odd ways.
Then look for a single blue tile
And tread lightly on its left side.
A low gate will open in the wall
And, here, mind your wits.
(This is where the time comes to hand:
Avoid four o’clock.) Beyond, the tide
Sweeps in as if to swiftly stall
The current build of sand.

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