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For Dead Poets That Yet Live


 For Dead Poets Who Yet Live

The earth swallowed you—
spitting out seeded words
 to linger like dusty books; 
pages yellowing on rotting shelves.

Like your blood,
your ink well has dried—died.

Tomorrow 
we go in search of mangers—seeking 
the resurrected word—crying out.

Old poets—at last—die; but
their words are reborn
in the pregnant minds left behind.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2016




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Date: 7/3/2016 9:52:00 PM
I like, Millard! Intriguing write ... CayCay
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