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nature poem

some one complained to the master
were it not for that singular smell
i am fevered
quietly, with reverance, in awe
these be
do not turn your head
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
this ancient silver bowl of mine
wrap the earth in cloudy weather
roses and gold
with joy and wonder
i do not pray for peace
a few more windy days
just as my fingers on these keys

 



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