spilled
The least touch of the world
tears the fabric of my being
I fountain all that is bright
and good and fluid in me
out into the careless air
across the sodden ground
Later there will be moss here
and a spray of white flowers
The least touch of the world
tears the fabric of my being
I fountain all that is bright
and good and fluid in me
out into the careless air
across the sodden ground
Later there will be moss here
and a spray of white flowers
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Lisa B King. All rights reserved.
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