To Sing the Ever Present Farewell
The way your breast rises,
small pillows,
two doves in autumn,
so, too, the song escapes.
I admit my part,
warbled promise, uncombed
and shivering,
free to worry
under its pull.
Still it comes,
inexorable tide
lowing a sorrow
through filtered light
till dawn.
This is lovely Robert.
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Thanks very much, Linda!
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Admitting your part, a warbled promise, uncombed & shivering…. Lovely!
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A little self realization can be good…
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That’s true rather than covering up….
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A gentle lament
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Thank you, Derrick.
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Enchanting!🌱
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Thanks very much.
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Delicate and nuanced – a soundbite corrective!
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Thank you, Dave!
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