I threw a ball
towards the sky
a random angle as one
does
The ball bounced of a
steeple
With a hissing kind of
buzz
It must have hit the
puncture point
With such accurate
connection
As though the steeple
concentration
Has penchant for
rejection
This thought I had not
met before
Among the masses of our
people
Who feel the point of
every miracle
Is a pinnacle of the
steeple
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