Oh! Letters
let us go
to that place
where pigs grow wings.
i will hold you tight
so you and i may lean
upon ebony ladders of vines
against the flowing ocean of skies.
For your lips gleam
in the sea shell of the moon--
and are far more imaginative
--more pleasing pressing .
Than the mazes the letters
make living in the depths of books.
For words trick us into seeing
other worlds rising
on the turning paper of our minds.
Copyright © Andrew Rymill | Year Posted 2006
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