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Joseph Hankinson Poem
A butterfly, swimming through
The stagnant air,
Shivers past the eye
Of an old rustic hound, whose
Paws flinch with a curious,
Frivolous anticipation.
But, once its muscles shed
Their torpid skin, and
Bones flex, and begin to swing,
It’s gone.
Copyright © Joseph Hankinson | Year Posted 2012
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