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Eye dreams.
Woven threads meander
Through the corners
Of my mind,
Words of golden
Like ripples
On a quiet sea,
Come drifting
As thoughts
Again unwind.

Once again they wander
To the dreaming
Of my eyes,
Visions of far
Distant bays,
of other scenes
From other plays
Are always
Walking through my days
And still
They act surprised.

Days so often practiced
In the beauty
Of a thought,
A deftly painted
Point in time,
A piece of art
A scrap of rhyme
Can sometimes
Touch me one more time
And yet
Can not be bought…


© 2017 WHITBYPOET1 (All rights reserved)


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