I recite and read aloud,
wander, lonely as a cloud,
then emulate and create
as memory stimulates;
Swim against poetry's tide
therein,an enigma hide,
perhaps,a step too far,with
Tennyson,crossing the bar;
I dream on Will's sonnet verse,
figuratively,sweet and terse,
lazing life away,with songs
compared to a summer's day.
To conjure an opening line
ever,remembered,as mine....
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