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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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