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Tell
Tell Your wind
no need to roar,
my own need
push enough --
Tell Your Sun
high at its zenith,
no need for excess
gleamith --
Confound further
my soul
saying, for you, no
love to be found,
in painted sky
on textured ground --
If love, for me, not near
nor far-apart – Why, Dear Lord!~
gave You this poet
a beating heart?
Copyright ©
Joe Dimino
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