Daydream
I mused, foolhardy. I messed around
With sentiment attached to place.
Now soul makes off with my faculties!
Essence parts with my name and face!
Down the otway's surge of tranquil-sipped
Memories, fern-chilled; into the bay
Apollo, as alluvial gold
Which flow. Whence comes then my dismay?
Copyright © James Watkin | Year Posted 2023
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