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Tho' I am but the sparrow's twining strains
The palette and the pen of whisp'ring souls
I'm sweeter, still, if dashed upon the shoals
Or bleeding from the hem of day's remains
Tho' I may weep from all a scoundrel feigns
For what each soldier's dying breath extols
It's grander, even, morning's meadow rolls
As spindrift, tossed upon the grassy plains
Oh, I am found the coursing thru all things
As warm within your veins, as sunset's sky
My constancy, to love and swoon and hate
To stir in hopes or see what passion brings
So guard me, close, or open me and cry ...
I'll bound and thrum and patiently ... await.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Open Me First" Poetry Contest, Craig Cornish, Judge & Sponsor.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2020
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