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SONNET #2 (For The Woolen)
Listen, all should from home or foreign clime
Consider the quivering gush that turns,
This whispering whirlpool of future rhymes
Whose mysteries, wild, untameable, churn
Through the circumf’rence of our space and time.
These old words are soon sought, in rush to learn
What past dregs swim the endless bubbled white
Of murk now morphed to clouded cotton;
A dancing mirror of nebula bright,
The key and answer to days forgotten.
Into this room burst our spinning new light -
My, his, her, their own directions fought on,
So with flourish of pen a poem I wrote
From the tear-stain of my tarnished hope.

By Candide

© 2010 Candide (All rights reserved)


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This Poem is part of a Challenge: FOS - ANYform Goes (challenge has been closed)

Status: Open to Public

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