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Posted by on Apr 22, 2017 in Poetry | 0 comments


I wish I wanted to live
More than I do. This drive
To say no to life is sly,
Not a drive at all but a stroll
A quiet voice whose droll
Persistence rises to a cry
When the stark difference
Of black and white has faded.
Strange how I’m elated
Not to care about the scents
Of manure in the field
When primrose and violet spring;
Their blended voices sing,
Cardinal and crow, one wheeled
Spinning Jenny strung
With day and night, young
And old, among the strings
That bind my wings.

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