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Poem 1: A Beginning

I sat and I wondered, to myself in my head, what shall I do before going to bed? "There's not much day left; there's no time ...

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Poem 189: Guitar

Leaning here against the wall,
Your echos still my fears.
Your notes float gently to the ground.
They're watered with my tears.
Then, from the soil of our song
A harmony's contrived.
It makes new rhythm for our lives,
And brightens shadowed minds.




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