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All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems
permission to use
provided by the author. |
Thirty-two's a slowly ripening
field,
Hot and happy in the summer sun.
Intense and long, the days are filled with light.
Reason knows that past the blue is night,
That all that ever is will be undone;
Yet for now that letter is still sealed.
Time moves slowly, certain of its
yield,
While gentle breezes through the barley run.
Odd wisps of memories float high and white. |
