Sunday, September 27, 2009

Poets

Our mansion's but a mountain,
Our cabin's naught but bay,
We slake our souls in darkness;
Beguiled by sky & vouvray-

Thus purified by moonlight
(that pagan mirth of trees!)
Enclaved in spade-leafed clover;
We reel on pliant knees-

Displaced aspects qualify
A morrow, seeded in seams,
Escape is affirmed liberation;
The future manifested in reams.


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