Outcast's Torment

All that moves does sound for it.
Heart-bent out there - shattered,!
If but morn-broke; by mist-wall, magpie
Soft-checked; and sweet-tempered.

Approximate to which place
For worldly neighbourhood
Wailingly upgushed, had first for me.
Babe. Still lost in its wood.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2025

Poem

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