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The dulcet rays of summertide extend Their wings below the wavy crowns of trees, Where slabs of stone adorn a path and blend Their way across a kingdom owned by bees. Across the waterfall, a house of stone Stands quiet by the ivied moorland, where The human footstep often strides alone, Though crescent moon beams always visit there. I’m like a raven on a branch of life, Distrustful of my fate and of my ways, Yet knowing that more clever is the knife Of time, than any fox who sings my praise. Alone with my own thoughts, protected by the heights Of oak and elm trees, where I lie in sleep, I feel unknown: untouched by all the lights Spread out by stars from their celestial keep. Across the fallows and the firths I fly On ample whiffs of wistful stupor quelled By the recess of chaos when I try To tame fierce words whose ore was never welled. As rain and winds might shred tall peaks to dust, So does the world grow old and rise anew Though, by sheer mutability, it must Reveal its secrets to a chosen few. Find my poems and published poetry volumes at

Copyright © | Year Posted 2016

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