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footprint poem

be patient, life, when love is at the gate
like eagles on up high
the sun is up
as a white candle
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
listen
though i am little as all little things
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
with lips blood red and heart of stone
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
out of the deep and the dark

 



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