deepundergroundpoetry.com
IN THE STICKS
The sun sets indirectly
On this part of the marsh,
Yet the birds still sing
To me, the earth,
About your wondrous
Little woven ball
Of golden fire.
On this part of the marsh,
Yet the birds still sing
To me, the earth,
About your wondrous
Little woven ball
Of golden fire.
Published 4th Sep 2019
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4th Sep 2019 9:39am
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